Hidden Places
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Pre-Series. Dean finds his life in danger when he stumbles across a ninety year old treasure smack dab in the middle of South Amboy, New Jersey, jumpstarting a hunt in the most unlikely of places.
1. Chapter 1

Hidden Places

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: This story was dreamed up on a recent vacation with some of my favorite people not to mention favorite writers. It has of course taken turns I did not imagine, but I hope you all enjoy. Thanks to Tidia, Mog and Williamson Scott for all their input. And of course Les, my consummate Dean girl, who inspired the Dean hurt comfort.

RCJ

"Love is the thing that makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place."

-Zora Neale Hurston

South Amboy, New Jersey was a blue collar neighborhood perched on the precipice of sweeping change; at least that was the story Caleb Reaves kept repeating to investors whenever the subject of his current work came in to question. Dean Winchester didn't see it. The beach was far from a dream vacation locale, most of the industry and shops were boarded up. The houses were old as hell, although his best friend referred to them as pre-1920's vintage.

Dean kind of liked South Amboy the way it was now. The people were fiercely loyal to each other, hardworking and they loved baseball; even if Dean had almost gotten into a couple of friendly fist fights defending his precious Sox.

He couldn't remember having a summer like this. Dean had made some friends and was a regular at a few haunts, including a neighborhood ball field with a sweet batting cage set-up, where a guy could walk on to some lively night games. He and Caleb had been staying in one of the apartments above the Landmark Tavern and Café instead of commuting each morning. It wasn't the Hilton, but the rent was cheap. Old man Heiser, the tavern owner, gave them a 10 percent discount on bar food and booze, and didn't even charge extra for the wake-up call when the train to Penn Station rumbled through each morning at 5:05 AM, rattling the windows and shaking the walls. It guaranteed they were out of bed and on the job site before the sun came up, which was an hour before anyone else, and the reason Dean couldn't currently seem to stop yawning.

"Damn, Little Dude, you keep that up, and pretty soon the whole crew will be conked out for an afternoon nap." Oliver 'Moose' Havers, Caleb's former college roommate and now construction foreman for Tri-Corp, put down the sledge hammer he was wielding and wiped a meaty arm across his sweaty forehead. "What time did you and the boss man get in from the city last night?"

"First off, the name's Dean, Ass Wipe." Despite Dean being twenty-three, Moose insisted on keeping up the nickname he'd tagged an eleven year old Dean with upon first meeting the kid when Dean had hitchhiked his way to Auburn during Caleb's first year there. "Just because you're three times the size of normal humans doesn't give you the right to demean us who aren't height and girth challenged."

"Kid told you, Moose." Franklin Farley, one of the crew snorted, and Moose threw the water bottle he'd just pulled from the community Coleman with some heat, the man catching it with a muffled oomph.

"We don't pay you for commentary, Farley."

Frank took a long pull from the bottle, grinning at Dean. The older man's dark skin looked almost gray covered in the dust and grime from hours of pulling up old floors and tearing down dry wall. "Good thing it's a free service I offer or we'd all be bored to tears by now."

Moose took two more bottles from the cooler tossing one to Dean, his good-natured grin locked in place despite the ribbing. "There's some aspirin in the first-aid bag if you need something for that hangover, Little Dude."

Dean rolled his eyes, uncapping the water. "Who said I had a hangover?"

"I heard the score to the game on the radio this morning. Caleb told me how you hate to lose."

"Damn Yankees." Dean growled, downing most of the water with one gulp. He might have had more beers than he'd planned when the game took a turn for the worse after the third inning, but he'd been nowhere near drunk. That would have been Damien.

"Reaves must have taken the game hard, too," Frank interjected. "He nearly took my head off this morning when I asked which crews needed to head to those other two capes we're leveling."

"Damien's not exactly in his happy place." Dean finished off his water, tossed the bottle in the can with the rest of the trash they'd collected, a vast wonderland of oddities left behind by the last residents. He and the other men on the crew had made a game out of who could find the strangest objects. So far, Moose was winning with some sort of sex toy that resembled a cat of nine tails complete with leather straps and colored feathers.

"I don't see why not. There's enough work here to keep us up to our eyeballs in demolition to Christmas. South Amboy ain't Brooklyn, but I can get used to it as long as the green keeps rolling in. Besides, I'm kind of liking the space between me and my old lady."

"It's not all about the money, Farley, or giving your wife a break from you, although I'm sure she is thankful for that. You know Boss likes to build things, not tear them down." Moose pulled one of the ever present power bars from his front pocket and unwrapped it, nearly taking the entire bar with one bite. He chewed for only a second before swallowing. "He won't say it, but I know he feels bad for these old places, hates like hell to gut them and tear them down like they never meant anything."

Dean looked up at Moose, surprised a little that someone else knew his best friend so well. The last few months working on Caleb's crew had been an eye opener for Dean on a couple of fronts. For one he could see the allure of a regular nine to five job, the routine offering connections to a very different world than the one that existed in the shadows after the midnight hour. He was still working on wrapping his mind around the fact that other people knew Caleb, perhaps even a different Caleb than the one Dean had grown up with in their shared world of hunting all things supernatural.

"He thinks the townhouses that will be going up in their stead are and I quote 'soulless monstrosities of steel and glass,'" Moose continued, "So, cut him some slack."

"Then why take the job?" Dean had meant to ask Caleb that very question over the weeks they'd been in New Jersey; weeks where his best friend had grown sullen and moody. Dean had blamed it partly on the fact they were in close proximity to the beach, but hadn't been able to get past the immense appreciation he'd felt for having been offered a temporary escape from his normal life to tempt fate by opening up that particular can of worms with his savior. When Caleb had shown up in the little town of Monroe, Louisiana where Dean and his father had just finished a successful, but incident ridden hunt through the swamps for a werewolf, Caleb could have asked Dean to help him shave hairy pig balls for the summer and Dean would have leaped at the chance. There was no doubt that Caleb's appearance on the one year anniversary of Sam's departure for Stanford was not a coincidence, nor was the phone call from Pastor Jim, which had John Winchester capitulating to his protégé's proposed summer plans for Dean, plans which didn't include hunting. "I mean this is definitely not an award-winning architect's dream job."

The look Farley and Moose shared suddenly made Dean feel more like a kid than the annoying nickname Little Dude. Dean didn't like it, but realized they may have been more in touch with whatever was going on with Caleb. He hadn't exactly been concerned with much this past year except for surviving Sam's sudden departure, the fallout it brought with it. It had become Dean's one priority. "What? Is Tri-Corp in trouble?"

"I wouldn't say trouble," Farley scratched the back of his bald head. "Right, Moose?"

"No," Moose jumped in too quickly. "Not in trouble, exactly. We haven't had to down size or anything. I mean losing the funding for that last project in Chelsea hurt, especially considering the amount of time the boss put into the designs, but this job, you know, it just came around at the right time, and I think Caleb hopes that if we get in on the ground floor, he'll get a leg up on bidding some of the big projects that are going to come from this, ones that could really put us back on the map. I mean South Amboy is a town on the precipice of …"

"Sweeping change," Dean interrupted the foreman with a wave of his hand, wondering when exactly Tri-Corp had fallen off the map and why Damien hadn't bothered to mention it. "I know, I've heard all about it."

"Then you understand why your uncle sees this as a sort of necessary evil, like sprint drills. Painful and dirty, but effective." The fact Moose tossed the remainder of his power bar into the trash instead of eating it was far more telling than his attempt at optimism. "Sometimes a guy has to bend over and take it every once in a while for a chance to get off the bench during the big game."

"That how you got so much playing time in college, Havers?" Farley guffawed, slapping Moose on his broad shoulders. "I bet you got real good at bending over and taking it?"

Just like that the mood changed, and Dean found himself once more catapulted into the world of construction, one not entirely unlike that of The Brotherhood when you looked at all the razzing between peers in the name of a good working relationship. He supposed the deep bonds formed by waging war against a common enemy were missing, but then there was something to be said for passing time together, working towards a common goal, all the while bitching about nagging wives, frigid girlfriends and disappointing plays by your favorite sports team.

"No more comments from the peanut gallery," Moose pointed to the sledge hammer. "Time to actually earn your keep instead of entertaining us with your comedian act."

"I'll take that as a yes." Frank winked at Dean, picked up his tools and started for the back of the house where he had been working. "Watch yourself with him, Kid."

"You ready to give it another go at that godforsaken mantle Caleb insists we save?" Moose nodded to the ornate wooden structure over the fireplace. "Like you said, he's not exactly in a happy place and I'm afraid he might cry if we have to let it go."

Dean looked longingly at his own sledgehammer, the one he'd been using all morning to take down walls. He might have understood his best friend's hang up with destroying the old houses they were taking down, but he didn't share them. Despite the hard labor, which left his shoulders and back screaming for mercy each night, Dean had found the act of annihilation and destruction rather therapeutic. Mackland Ames would proudly approve of the positive use of a year's worth of Dean's pent-up frustration.

"Considering I can't stand to see a grown man cry, I guess I better." Dean picked up the crowbar and moved towards the mantle in question. He'd seen the spark in Caleb's eyes as he spotted the piece when they walked through the old place before starting the demolition. At the Tavern over burgers and beers Caleb had went on and on about the rare wood, the fact the mantle was the most expensive thing in the place and how unusual it was for an architect to add something so elaborate in a typical 1920's residential model. To say Caleb had been over the moon to find that two of the other houses had the same type mantle was a gross understatement. He had plans to give one to Pastor Jim then spring his idea for some renovations to the farm on The Guardian. Dean wasn't leaving until he found a way to remove the fucking piece of wood.

"I've tried everything and the pretty lady just won't give it up."

"That something else that happened a lot in college, Oliver?" Dean ran his hand along the backside of the mantle. He'd concede that Damien was right about the piece, it was unusual, the wood dark and swirled, smooth to the touch and shiny despite the dilapidation around it. It would look good at Jim's place. Maybe they could put one in The Tomb.

"Cute, Little Dude." Moose inserted his crowbar in the opposite edge and gave a grunt as he tried to pry the wood from the base of the wall. "I'll have you know I had the ladies falling at my feet."

"A dangerous place to be considering the size sixteen cleats you sported back then." Dean added his weight and together they gave another go at it.

"The only thing I broke was their hearts when old Moose was too quick to be tied down."

Dean laughed. "If I remember right, Damien said you had a whole other nickname on the offensive line. Mud Turtle, wasn't it?"

"No one ever told you slow and steady wins the race, Kid?"

"In my experience, the only thing slow and steady will get you is dead." Dean read the puzzled look Moose gave him and quickly flashed a devilish grin. One of the tough things about living 'above ground' in normal land was that a guy had to be careful about what he said. There was a legitimate reason John Winchester had left all his former friends in Kansas behind him and bothered to make no other connections except those in The Brotherhood. Dean wondered how Sam was fairing lying to all his new friends at Stanford. "Got to be quick to outrun buckshot."

Moose shook his head. "Someday you and Caleb are going to learn the hard way to make sure the women you pick up aren't married, have ex-con boyfriends or don't live with their ball-bat wielding daddy's."

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean tried shoving the crowbar farther behind the mantle. "Women need to keep a bit of mystery if they want to hold my interest."

"Considering Caleb shows up once a month or so beat to hell, I think I'll stick with the boring chicks."

"A walk on the wild side's not for everyone, Oliver."

"Now you sound like Caleb."

"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that I could make an investment to put Tri-Corp back on the map." Dean's last great effort yielded nothing, not even a pop or splinter. "Damn, what is this thing put up with?"

"The hell if I know, I can't find a nail mark." Moose dropped his crowbar and bent down. He stuck his head in the fireplace, and Dean watched him trail his hand over the pieces of wood that framed the sides. "It's the damndest thing…"

"Let me try the mallet." Dean picked up the rubber hammer, disappointed in its lightness. He began a soft tapping around the perimeter. He bent down to reach the bottom of the surround. Each corner of the mantle had a square piece with a carved center which if you stared at it long enough seemed to take on the appearance of a man's face. Dean thought the one he tapped seemed to be smiling. He hammered the grinning caricature and heard a loud pop, then a crunch, but saw no surface damage from the blow.

"Whoa, guess it isn't a working fireplace," Moose commented, quickly ducking out of the opening.

Dean stood up and saw that the stone backing had slid open leaving a window-sized gap between the walls. "Cool."

"That's definitely a first for me." Moose sat back on his haunches studying the secret panel.

"Says the man missing his adventurous streak." Dean bobbed his eyebrows. "Where we come from hidden passageways are commonplace. In fact, we have one at the farm."

Moose shook his head, thinking Dean was bullshitting as usual. Sometimes truth was more unbelievable than fiction. "Let me guess, Robin. The Bat Cave?"

"I have been called a boy wonder, but it's more of a tomb than a cave." Dean kept his grin in place, knowing he could probably spill the whole sordid tale of The Brotherhood right then and there and Moose would think he was pulling his leg. He started forward, but the construction foreman caught his arm. "Whoa, you're going in there?"

"Hell, yes." Dean shook off the other man's grip. "There is bound to be something back there that is going to trump that fucked up sex toy you found. I can almost taste that steak and beer and the hundred bucks we all wagered is burning a hole in my pocket. Plus, there's no way you're fitting your freakish hulk body in there, Moose."

"You better take this." Moose offered up his flashlight with an uncharacteristic frown. "And for Pete's sake be careful."

Dean rolled his eyes at the coddling, but grabbed the light. He blamed Caleb for the kid-glove treatment. Dean had worked hard to prove himself as capable as any other guy on the payroll, a fact that wasn't easy considering his connection to the boss. "I promise not to get a scratch."

"Good, because Caleb put you on my crew for a reason."

"So I'd keep you from eating up all the profits?" Dean joked as he half slid, half crawled through the narrow opening. Once inside he was able to stand, panning the light from one side to the other, the space opened up into an area the size of a small bedroom.

"Has anyone told you the smart ass gene is definitely prominent in your family?" Moose called.

"If I had a dollar for every…" Dean let his words trail off as he took in the glass bottles neatly shelved on the row of book cases lining the walls. Cobwebs covered the different sized amber containers, and Caleb's diatribe about the old houses being the height of architecture during prohibition was suddenly more interesting. Dean was pretty damn certain a secret stash of 90 year old whiskey was going to make him a shoe in for the prize of greatest find, if not a whole lot richer.

"You alright in there, Little Dude?"

"Moose, my man, I am better than alright." Dean pulled one of the bottles from the shelf, turning to make his way back to the opening. Thunder rolled over head. It wasn't the rumble of nature, but of a shaking foundation that brought dirt and more bottles raining down on top of Dean. Another crack sent one of the shelves from its mooring, crashing towards the twenty-two year old. Dean was able to twist, avoiding a full on hit , but the glancing blow to his back sent him careening into the corner of the other shelf, his chest colliding into solid wood with a crunch. The falling structure pinned him against its twin, bottles of alcohol exploding around him as they struck the ground at his feet.

"Dean!"

Dean tried to muffle a cry of pain as he used the strength of his legs to slide himself free, losing part of his shirt and some of the skin off his back in the process but at least he could breathe once more. Without Dean's body as wedge, the shelf banged the rest of the way to the floor, a cloud of dust and debris billowing past the hunter to plume out the small entrance. An eerie quiet settled on the room like a dense fog, the storm passing as quickly as it emerged.

"Frank!" Dean heard Moose yell for Farley at the back of the house. "Get Caleb!"

"No!" Dean coughed, hugging his arm across his stomach as he tried to coax his lungs into working properly. He still had a tight grip on the bottle of whiskey he'd pulled from the shelf and took another measured breath to get his bearings in the darkened space. The last thing he needed was Caleb to come barreling in, and find him covered in dirt, blood and booze. Dean wasn't even wearing the freaking hardhat his best friend made him promise to sport on the job site. Caleb claimed OSHA would fine their ass, but Dean didn't miss the fact Caleb didn't seem so concerned about Moose, Farley or half the other crew wearing standard operating safety equipment. "Moose, I'm okay."

"Little Dude?" Dean could detect the relief in the big man's voice. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Dean nodded even though he knew Moose couldn't see him. He focused on the faint light of the opening. Most of the dust had settled, allowing him to see the other man on hands and knees in the fireplace.

"I'm good. Really." Dean's ribs hurt like hell but he'd had worse when being tossed about by an angry spirit.

"Can you make it out? Do I need to come in after you?"

"That's all we need-Bullwinkle in the china shop." Dean groaned as he dropped to his knees, keeping hold of the unbroken bottles of whiskey before slowly crawling back to the secret panel. He was relieved to see the rest of the stone backing had slid away in the shifting, opening the passage more so he wouldn't have to contort his aching upper body to squeeze through. He held up the whiskey, noting the flowery emblem on the faded gold label. "Try not to be a sore loser, Oliver."

Moose grinned at him from the other side, giving an exasperated shake of his head. "Damn, Kid, I'd have bought you a steak dinner and a beer if you'd just asked."

"Now you tell me." Dean rolled his eyes. "There is the matter of the money and my pride."

"Screw it. I'll give you the hundred dollars if you get your ass out of here and put on your hard hat before Caleb shows up."

"Damn, Moose." Dean sighed. "I told you not to send Farley after him. We had a deal."

"Forgive me for thinking a house falling on you was a little higher on the scale of incidents that should be reported to big brother, than say Farley dropping that load of concrete on your foot, or you smashing your thumb with a hammer."

Dean growled deep in his throat thinking how he was going to thwart Caleb's mothering mode when his friend got a look at the cuts and bruises he was bound to have. On a hunt such injuries would be ignored as part of the job, but Caleb seemed to think Tri-Corp was a different ballgame, almost as if Dean was a rookie recruit all over again. "Just give me a hand out of here."

Moose reached for Dean at the same time Dean offered him the hand free of booze. They never made contact. It was like hitting a glass door.

"What the hell?" Moose tried again to reach for Dean's outstretched hand, his face reflecting his confusion when once again he was blocked by an invisible source. "That can't be…"

"Ah, shit." Dean looked from his hand, back to the space between him and Moose. He thought back to Caleb's puzzled reaction to the mantle. "Cocobolo wood."

"What?" Moose had now resorted to placing both hands on the unseen shield pushing with all his might. "This is crazy. Is this some kind of joke?"

"Not so much." Dean sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. Dean now remembered where he'd seen such wood before, recalled why it was special beyond being a beautiful building material typically used in fine musical instruments. Cocobolo rosewood was steeped in legend, often utilized in magical wards and enchantments. Whoever had hidden the booze was serious about its protection. Secret panels were one thing, but bewitched hiding spaces were quite another. Obviously he'd triggered the spell, one that sealed entrances and prohibited any exit. Dean was screwed. "The mantle is made of Cocobolo rosewood."

"What does that mean?" Moose reverted to kicking the unseen barricade keeping him from reaching Dean. He delivered three vicious blows before backing up, hands on hips as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "Did you hit your head?"

"It means you can take a sledge hammer, hell, a stick of dynamite to this bitch and I'm still going to be stuck." Dean placed his hand against what should have been thin air, feeling the slight echo of electricity through his silver hunter's band. They were dealing with some strong magic. Moose was not going to understand. He lifted his gaze to the foreman's, the other man's brown eyes spooked. "You better get Caleb."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

RCJ

Caleb Reaves cursed his shitty luck not for the first time that morning. Not only had he already taken two 'emergency' calls from the president of the South Amboy Rejuvenation Committee who hired Tri-Corp for the demolition, but Jan Bell, his office manager chose that moment to drop a stack of invoices and three bulging folders on his desk.

"You forget to bring your bifocals, JB, because this looks like paperwork. I don't do paperwork." Caleb raised his gaze to the auburn-haired woman glaring at him, noting her typical pinched scowl was in place. The hateful glower didn't take away too much from her angular features and high cheek bones, proof that in her day Jan had probably been one hell of a looker. She, however, was not known for her pleasantries, but her organizational skills, finesse with numbers, and ability to hold her own with any foulmouthed, tool belt toting construction worker was well worth the bad attitude. She had helped run the executive office of Ames Industries for thirty five years up until retiring to travel across country in an RV with her husband, Berry, but Caleb sometimes wondered if Cullen's suggestion to persuade his former employee to work part-time for Tri-Corp after the business took off wasn't some sort of payback for Caleb not following in his grandfather's footsteps to work at Ames Industries. "What exactly am I paying you the big bucks for?"

"I've already sorted through these, smart ass." The older woman shoved some blue prints out of the way, set a cup of coffee and two blue caplets in front of Caleb. "Believe it or not, my 'Caleb Reaves Approved' stamp won't work on certain items. And to answer your question, you are 'not' paying me enough to be your personal caterer and nursemaid. What next? Removing your shoes, rubbing your shoulders?"

God, if Caleb thought having the old bat work on the kinks in his neck would stop the horrible headache he'd had since waking that morning he might actually offer her a bonus, maybe even some stock options. "And risk compromising our completely professional relationship, Jan? Never."

"An Ames who adheres to proper business etiquette? That's doubtful. " Jan smoothed the front of her cream silk blouse, tapped her red lacquered nails on the desk. "Your grandfather used to send me to buy lingerie and perfume for whatever new woman was in his life on my lunch breaks. I picked up his laundry, penned personal correspondences, which would have left even a young Casanova like yourself red-faced, and once took dictations in the men's restroom after a rather unfortunate incident with rancid oysters."

Caleb took the two pain pills and washed them down with a grimace. Jan's coffee-making skill left much to be desired as well. "As if I didn't already feel like throwing up, thank you so much for those searing images of my sweet old grandpa."

Jan flashed her perfectly white dentures at him, looking unsympathetic to his plight, although she did move to close the blinds behind his desk blocking out the July mid-day sun. It cast the room in soothing shadows. "Serves you right, young man. Perhaps you'll learn to save your celebrations for the weekend. Your generation is all about doing what feels good in the moment, consequences be damned."

"I definitely should know better." Caleb rubbed his temples, offering the woman a practiced look of repentance. He only wished his pounding head could be accredited to the amount of alcohol he'd consumed at Yankee Stadium last night. Unfortunately, the hunter recognized the familiar telltale signs of a pending vision.

He knew better than to fight his psychic abilities, understood completely the ramifications but damn it just this once he deserved a freaking break. Caleb could hear the tiny voice in the back of his mind, like his own personal Mackland Ames recording reminding his son that resistance was futile. It only made the pain worse and rarely prevented the inevitable. Still, Caleb didn't have time for a supernatural interruption. He didn't have time to go on a hunt that the visions always precluded. He'd just have to learn to deal with the pain until he made his deadline in August.

The banging of the front door was like spikes through Caleb's skull. His makeshift office was located in what would have been the kitchen of the old single wide trailer they'd set up as temporary headquarters while on location. The master bedroom might have been a better choice considering the interruption factor, but Jan claimed first dibs on the secluded air-conditioned space, citing the need for quiet as she was being forced to commute from Manhattan. At the time Caleb didn't complain, the refrigerator had been a draw, the big bay windows meant for a dining area had called to his inner artist even if this wasn't the type of job that required many sketches. Now he was definitely reconsidering taking up residence in one of the tiny back bedrooms they'd used for supplies.

"Caleb!" Frank Farley's booming voice added to Caleb's misery. Jan seemed to take some mercy on her boss as she blocked the big black man from barreling into Caleb's space uninvited.

"Hold up there, Frank," Jan's voice was soft but firm. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Frank expertly danced around the woman, heading straight for Caleb's desk. "Boss, we got a problem in 303. Looks like some internal structure gave way and I think Dean might be trapped inside."

Caleb barely registered his best friend's name when a barrage of images battered his mind- bright flashes illuminated the face of a unfamiliar man, a glint of green and gold on wrinkled hands, those of a woman waving a smoking smudge stick in front of the stranger before placing it on a mantle, the very same unusual mantle Caleb had admired in 303.

"Caleb! Did you hear me?"

Franks voice broke the spell and Caleb pushed away from the desk, attempting to stand as he was released from the short lived vision. He'd not seen Dean, but felt him, their connection crackling to life like a tactile soundtrack laid to a silent movie. Adrenaline flowed through him, the typical endorphin release from the psychic burst, compounded by a surge of fear for Dean.

"Is he hurt?"

"I'm not sure, man. Moose sent me over here as soon as it happened."

"Should I call for paramedics?" Jan reached to pick up the phone.

Caleb stopped her with a shake of his head. His abilities told him Dean was alive, conscious. His best friend felt almost as strongly as Caleb did about medical aid, and it was not in their nature to bring in outside help unless absolutely necessary. He grabbed one of the portable radios, tossed the other one to Jan. "I'll call you if it comes to that."

Caleb and Frank jogged out of the vacant lot they'd cleared that first month to set up home base. Farley struggled to maintain Caleb's pace as he excitedly explained how he'd heard the commotion from the back of the house where he was working, as if the disturbance was coming from inside the walls.

"I don't understand what happened. They were going after that old mantle when I left them after break."

Caleb and Frank were half way down the street that led to the house Moose and crew had been working on the last two days when said construction foreman came barreling through a neighboring lot.

"Skid… you ain't going to freaking believe this shit." Moose slid to a stop in front of them, bending over with hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I ain't never seen anything like it...Little Dude..."

"Moose?" Caleb impatiently watched his former roommate fight for enough oxygen to continue. He twitched with the need to reach Dean, to see for himself the younger man was in one piece.

"Little Dude is trapped in a secret passageway, man." Oliver looked from Caleb to Farley. "I mean, I can't get him out."

"Secret passageway?" Farley propped his hands on his hips, frowning at Moose. "What are you talking about, Havers? Did you get smacked in the head with some of the falling debris?"

"In the mantle. Kid tripped a latch, just like in a movie. There was a hidden room. When he went in the whole place started to come down around him."Moose jutted a finger over his shoulder. "Come see for yourselves."

Farley gestured to the radio Caleb was carrying. "Should we call some more crews in from the other houses, Boss? Michaels and Evans are two streets over. We'll need to secure the frame before we start any kind of dig out."

Michaels and Evans were two of Tri-Corp's top engineers. Caleb would have brought them in for their expertise if the images he'd picked up from Oliver's racing mind hadn't confirmed his fears. Knowledge of structural integrity wasn't the kind of knowhow they were going to need for this particular job.

"No," he snapped. Farley shared a confused look with Moose. Caleb took a deep breath and tempered his tone. "Let me take a look first. Hidden rooms aren't exactly protocol."

When they reached the house, Caleb motioned for Farley to hold up. He liked and trusted Frank, but the man didn't know how to keep his mouth shut, was Tri-Corp's resident gossip. "Stay here, Frank. Don't let anyone else in here until we know what kind of structure breakdown we're looking at. We sure as hell don't want to bring the place down on top of us."

Farley didn't look happy about being left out of the action, but he stayed put while Moose followed Caleb in and motioned to the mantle. "I'm telling you, it's freaky, with a capitol F."

"How about grabbing me a flashlight, Oliver?"

"I'll get Frank's out of the back." Caleb nodded before making his way across the room, kneeling just outside the fireplace. Dean sat easily within his reach, propped up against the stone pillar. The younger hunter was covered in dirt, some blood streaked his cheek, but he smiled when Caleb met his gaze, proudly holding up a bottle of whiskey.

"You're just in time for happy hour, Damien."

"Damn, Kiddo." Relief flooded through Caleb, and he gave a slightly hysterical chuckle. "If you needed a day off so badly, you could have just asked."

"You'd think so, but you see my boss is a real hard ass." Dean shifted, wincing when he brought his knees up to his chest. "He expects me to start early and stay late."

"You alright?" Caleb felt an echo of Dean's pain, let his gaze run over the kid again worried there could be unseen injuries.

"I'm a little banged up, but nothing a shower, a Coney Dog, and a beer wouldn't fix."

"Then I take it there's a reason you're just hanging out?" Caleb reached for him, experiencing the same phenomena Moose had explained. His hand was blocked from touching Dean, though they were only inches apart and nothing visible separated them from one another. They weren't the touchy-feely types, but at that moment Caleb felt a sick twist in his gut that he couldn't make physical contact with his best friend, which meant he wouldn't be getting him out anytime soon. "Well, fuck."

"My sentiments exactly." Dean pointed above his head. "I'm guessing that Cocobolo wood you were jonesing over wasn't a random choice by a local artisan. It got me to thinking about that enchantress who kidnapped me and Sammy when you were at Auburn. Remember that special box Bobby said you had to have for her heart? It was made of the same shit, right?"

"Yeah, it was." Caleb cursed a blue streak, running his hands over the entire length of the fireplace, finding the barrier had no weakness. He should have thought of that sooner, made the possible connection instead of just seeing the skilled artwork. They might not be in this mess. After all, this was par for the course considering the lives they led. "I've never seen it used on this grand of a scale. We've used wards to block things out, like with the wendigo, but…"

"Maybe it's like a devil's trap?" Dean offered, not making Caleb feel one bit better.

Caleb shook his head. "Did you see any markings? How did this happen?"

"Moose and I were trying to get this bitch down when I hit one of those engravings you were admiring in the wood. The passageway opened."

"And you thought it was a good idea to check it out?" Caleb frowned at the younger hunter. "Without your hard hat, I might add."

Dean rolled his eyes at the reprimand. "What would you have done, Damien?"

Caleb knew with certainty he would have done the same damn thing, but Dean's safety had a much higher priority than his own. "I'm the boss. The same rules don't apply to me."

"It's not like I was expecting anything supernatural. After the stash of sex toys we uncovered, I was at most expecting to find a secret S&M dungeon complete with a sweet torture chamber to trump Moose."

"Expecting my ass." Caleb knew his best friend all too well. "More like hoping like hell you'd stumbled into some pervert's play room."

"This is definitely not the kind of screw over I had on my mind." Dean bobbed his eyebrows, grinning. "Damn witches."

"Did you say witches?" Moose slid in beside Caleb, holding out the flashlight.

"Sonsofbitches," Caleb clarified, barely shooting a glance to his construction foreman as he took the light and shined it past Dean, getting a look at the destruction inside, the downed shelf and broken bottles. If the place was hexed, they're would be no coming in the back way either. "We figure this is the work of bootleggers."

Dean lifted the bottle of liquor he'd taken in a mock toast. "Hats off to their ingenuity."

"Moose, we're going to need to keep the other crews out of here and double team number 200. We should pull the men out of 306 and out of 309." There were similar mantles in those houses, and Caleb didn't want another trapped man.

"So the mantles are no longer a priority?" Moose suspiciously eyed the fireplace. "What the hell is going on, Skid?"

Caleb felt his gut turn with something more than fear and worry for Dean. He met his old roommate's gaze and tried to come up with a plausible lie. It was hard not to look away as he forced a half grin. "Like I said, looks like some bootleggers got creative in protecting their stash and you and Deuce sprung their trap. The fancy mantles must have been some kind of marker."

"Yeah," Dean joined in. "Like an 'X' marks the spot on a pirate map."

"That doesn't explain this." Moose made a move to reach towards Dean, his hand easily blocked. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like a force-field-something out of Star Trek."

"More like invisible bullet proof glass," Dean supplied, and both Caleb and Moose looked at him. Caleb gave the kid credit for trying. "The pane must have been retrofitted into the wall, some kind of pulley system and slid into place after I picked up that bottle of whiskey."

"Invisible glass?" Moose's brow furrowed. He rubbed his buzzed blond hair, a drip of sweat trickling off the end of his crooked nose.

"Probably encloses the whole place," Dean continued. "Like a cage. We'll be lucky if I don't run out of air."

Oliver looked up as if asking for divine assistance. "You two must really think I took too many hits on the field, that I'm truly some dumb jock?"

"There was that Iron Bowl when you got knocked unconscious." Caleb arched a brow.

"Those assholes at Alabama never took Moose Havers out of the game and you damn well..." Moose stopped mid rant, appearing to realize Caleb's tactic to throw him off the trail by playing on his hatred of all things Crimson. "Just cut the crap, Reaves and tell me what's really going on."

Caleb glanced at Dean. He felt the rush of empathy flood the psychic link he had open with the younger man. His best friend was the one trapped, hurting more than he'd admit to Caleb, yet was worried about Caleb having to come clean with Oliver. Caleb took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, and returned his gaze to Moose. "Don't ask me to do that, Moose."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want to lie to you, man."

"Then don't." Moose gestured to the mantle. "Try telling me the truth for a change."

"I'm sorry." Caleb clenched his jaw. They did what they did and shut up about it. It was the favored motto of his mentor John Winchester. Caleb abided by the rule because he'd found out the hard way what being different brought. Even good people turned on things they couldn't understand. If someone didn't fit inside the box called normal, they tended to wrap them up in strait jackets, tossed them in padded rooms and threw away the key. "I can't."

Moose's face reddened with more than the stifling heat of the house. "Can't or won't, Dude?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well, shit." Moose was the first to break their stare off with a disappointed shake of his head. Caleb, not for the first time, was very aware of John Winchester's warnings about mixing hunting with his other life, one mistake and lines were easily blurred.

"I'm going to need your help, Oliver." Caleb looked at Dean again, desperation to get the younger man free overriding the fact the two worlds he'd so carefully constructed, and kept separate for over a decade, seemed hell bent for a collision course.

"We both need your help," Dean added.

The younger man's declaration had Moose refocusing on him. He offered the kid a shrug. "Just so you two don't think you can treat me like I'm an idiot. I mean, invisible bullet proof glass probably wasn't even invented until sometime in the eighties."

Caleb snorted, shooting Dean a wink. "Guess that will teach us to try and pull one over on Oliver, Deuce."

"What do you need to get Little Dude out of here?" Moose's face remained grim, letting Caleb know he was not off the hook. It was going to take more than a beer and trip to Coney Island to fix what was banged up between him and his business partner.

"We need Bobby or Jim," Dean answered before Caleb could.

"The guy that owns the junkyard that you told me about, he's your uncle or something, and the church pastor from Kentucky. He was at graduation, right?"

"Yeah," Caleb ran a hand through his hair, thinking of who he should reach out to first. He didn't even completely understand what they were dealing with.

"A mechanic and a cleric know a lot about secret passageways and bootlegging?"

"Let's just say they have a diverse skill set and leave it at that, buddy." Caleb stood, glancing towards the door. He didn't want to leave the kid, but his cell phone was back in the office along with the supplies he'd need to fortify the house before dark. They couldn't be caught off guard again. He also needed to come up with a plausible story for Frank.

"Go." Dean motioned to the door, seeming to understand his hesitation. "The sooner you call them, the sooner you can get me out of here."

"I'll stay put until you get back." Moose settled on the floor, folding his arms over his chest. "Not even Crimson's offensive line could get past me."

Caleb met Oliver's determined blue gaze, finding understanding for his plight if not absolution. He gave a sharp nod, knowing that the other man deserved better than the poorly construed half-truths, but he'd accepted long ago that life rarely dealt a guy a fair hand. "Thanks, Moose. I owe you one."

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. This chapter is a little shorter but since next Monday is a holiday here in the states, I will try and post another longer chapter on Friday, that is if no one objects to me breaking routine. ;-)

RCJ

"He's not trying to be an ass," Dean told Moose once Caleb was out of earshot. He heard the door click shut and caught Frank's muffled voice as Caleb explained what he needed the man to do.

Moose waited until it was completely quiet to face Dean. "We both know that in Caleb's case it doesn't take much effort."

"I know it may not seem like it, but he's just watching out for you."

"I'm a big boy, as you and most of the crew are very fond of pointing out every chance you get." Moose leaned his broad shoulders against the other side of the mantle, patting his expansive stomach as evidence. "I can handle myself."

"I get why you feel that way, but we're not talking about facing down a bunch of bulked up guys in pads. There are things you don't understand, things you don't ever want to understand." Dean knew size and strength offered little protection in their world. Knowledge was their best weapon, a terrible double-edged sword.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think." Moose propped his elbows on his knees, leaning closer. "I might surprise you."

Dean shook his head, knowing that the other man was trying to loosen his lips. Dean wasn't about to betray Caleb's confidence. If Damien wanted to spill the beans about what was beyond the curtain to his buddy, Dean would have gone along with that, backed him up and defended the choice to any members of The Brotherhood who might object, namely John Winchester, but there was no way he was going to break the truth to Oliver. "Don't take it personally, Moose. In case you haven't noticed, Caleb's big on the whole protection thing. He'd clothe me and everyone else he cares about head to toe in bubble wrap if he had the chance."

Moose sat back with a snort. "Another family trait, no doubt."

"More like a side effect of the family business." Dean understood all too well about wanting to protect those he loved. Sam would be safely tucked away from the world if Dean had his way.

"Are you guys in the mob?"

Dean laughed hard, regretting it when pain burned its way across his chest. Now that the rush of adrenaline was leaving him, realization of his injuries were settling in. His body hurt. He brought an arm over his mid-section, hiding his grimace with a grin. Moose's assumption was absurd, but completely ironic considering Dean and Caleb's long standing jokes about Jim being comparable to The Godfather. "As much as it would thrill me to say hell yes, no, we are definitely not in the mob."

"It was one of my theories back in school." Moose shrugged, looking a little disappointed. He cut his gaze to Dean. "Me and the other guys had a lot of them. I mean, this smart ass punk freshman shows up, acting and looking like he'd come right off the mean streets. We saw guys like that on the team, but Skid wasn't on scholarship from some inner city school. He sure as hell wasn't the typical Auburn Athletics recruit. Then I heard through the grapevine he was from a mega wealthy family, the kind of money that could add a wing to a science building to get their kid in an upper classmen suite. He never let on about where he came from, or talked about his family. He always headed off for the weekends only to come back with crazy injuries with some lame story of love gone wrong. It didn't add up."

"You know what they say, man, every scar has a story." Dean wasn't thinking about just the physical ones he and his best friend sported. Their deepest, most disturbing scars were the ones they carried in places people couldn't see-like invisible bullet proof glass.

"Then you two could fill a book."

Dean cocked a brow. "You've been checking me out, Oliver?"

"It doesn't take much to get you shirtless, Little Dude."

"Swinging a hammer in a hundred and twenty degree shack with no drop of air conditioning calls for some tasteful nudity. " Dean smirked. "Besides when you're talking about a physique like mine, there is no downside. I'm a beautiful landscape."

Moose didn't seem to get the inappropriate banter thing. He continued to stare at Dean, a sincere concern shining in his blue eyes. "I used to think it was your Dad who beat the shit out of Caleb. I pegged him as a mean drunk, especially after you showed up at Auburn that first time looking like a mini-me of Skid, all black and blue, full of piss and vinegar. "

"My old man has a good standing relationship with Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo, and don't get me wrong when I say he can be a scary bastard, but he would never hurt me or Caleb." Dean thought of the injuries his father did inflict on those he loved, none of them physical, but sometimes more damaging in their own way. Sometimes it was easy to be angry at John Winchester, especially during the last year when Sam had been gone. But no matter how pissed Dean was currently, in the end Dean loved his father more than he could ever resent him. "My dad is a hero."

"That's pretty much what Caleb said the one time I asked him about it, told me it wasn't any of my damn business but that your dad was a former Marine, brave as they come." Moose rubbed his chin. "I'm pretty sure he thought about busting me in the mouth for even questioning the man's character."

Dean knew Caleb could be the most vocal when it came to John Winchester's shortcomings, but he was also the only one allowed to throw the man under the bus. "Family is a complicated thing."

"Is that why Tiny Dude flew the coop? Your family a little too complicated for his liking?"

Dean snorted, calling an image of his brother to mind. _Tiny Dude _was even more of a ridiculous name for Sam, than Little Dude was for Dean. "I'm beginning to see why Caleb might want to punch you in the mouth, Moose."

"I guess it's a good thing there's an inch of bullet proof invisible glass between us."

"Caleb will get me out eventually." Dean rubbed his side, hoping that his freedom would come sooner rather than later. There was a dull throbbing in his gut, a pain he was afraid had little to do with the fact it was way past his lunch time since he'd had only a piece of leftover pizza for breakfast.

"I'm not being nosy, just curious. Caleb used to talk about you and Sam all the time, bragged about the kid getting a full ride to Stanford, but since last year he never mentions him. It's like he dropped off the face of the earth."

"Is that so?" Dean knew Caleb walked on eggshells around him when it came to Sam. If Dean on rare occasion brought his kid brother up, Caleb listened, offered whatever he thought Dean wanted or needed to hear at the time, whether that might be a rousing declaration of 'fuck Stanford,' or a confession that he'd checked in with an old buddy from his prep school days that just happened to be the Dean of Admissions at Stanford, and Sam was doing well. So well, that Sammy wasn't coming home for summer break.

"I asked him about it one day, back around Christmas. He said Sam was dead to him."

Dean wasn't surprised considering the shitty holiday they'd had, followed up by a miserable New Years. The disastrous job in New Mexico, Sam skipping out of the hospital before Dean was released, had not inspired sympathy in Caleb for Sam's plight. Dean wasn't really in the place or state of mind to try and defend his brother. "I bet that fed right into your old mob theory."

"To tell you the truth, I was almost afraid your little brother was sleeping with the fishes. Your old man ain't the only one who can come off as a scary bastard."

"Sammy's just stretching his wings, Moose." Dean didn't reveal he doubted his brother would ever return to the hunting lifestyle he saw as a cage as tangible as the enchanted room Dean found himself trapped in. If Dean was more of a philosopher he could probably draw some truly profound parallels between his current predicament and the way Sam saw their life. "Damien was probably pouting because Sammy didn't call on his birthday. In case you missed it, he can be a bit of a drama queen."

"You're telling me." Moose nodded. "Every year with the rant about being born too close to Christmas. Give me a break, already. You'd think Skid was the one sent to save the world."

Despite the unexpected conversation about Sam, Dean found it hard not to chuckle at Moose's exasperation. He was beginning to see an upside to someone else knowing Damien so well. Dean would have added his thoughts about his best friend's annual lament, but the bit of mirth cost him, his laughs morphing into a coughing spree that made it hard to breathe. When Dean got the fit under control, Moose was on his knees, bending as close as he could to Dean with a look of alarm on his face.

"Damn, Little Dude, you alright?"

Dean nodded, quick to answer in the affirmative, but the bitter taste of copper on his tongue stopped him. He looked down at the hand he'd pressed against his mouth understanding Moose's reaction. It was coated in frothy blood.

"You're bleeding." Dean pulled his gaze from his fingers to meet Moose's frightened gaze. Any other time he would have assuredly had a smart ass remark to Oliver's over the top proclamation, but the worsening pain in his chest kept him quiet. "I should get Caleb."

Moose started to get up, and Dean had to stop himself before he reached for the other man. "Wait."

"What? Why? You're hurt, kid. Worst than we thought."

"So." Alerting Caleb to Dean's condition would do nothing to change their situation.

"So Caleb needs to know what's going on."

"Why? So he can get me out of here quicker? Trust me when I say Caleb's going to do everything he possibly can do to get me out of here no matter what. Him thinking I might be in worse shape than I am will not help things."

"You're asking me to lie?" Moose shook his head. "That's not who I am."

"I'm asking you to keep him in the dark for his own good." Dean rubbed his hand on his jeans, getting rid of the evidence. He took the tail end of his shirt and wiped it across his lips just in case.

"After the little speech I gave earlier, that would make me one hell of a hypocrite."

"Damien and I prefer the phrase pot calling the kettle black."

"It still stinks." Oliver kicked a dirt covered boot against the invisible barrier.

"Welcome to our world, Moose."

"I've got to say it's not looking that great to me so far, Little Dude."

"Now you're beginning to understand the fences and the big no trespassing signs we post, Grasshopper." Dean rested his head against the wall, hoping it might make it easier to breathe. "It's our way of saying 'visitors beware'."

Moose's anger faded into something far more somber, his eyes reflecting an emotion Dean recognized as pity. "That must be one hell of a lonely place to live, Kid."

The slamming of a door followed by heavy footsteps announced Caleb's return. Dean was thankful he didn't have to ponder Moose's statement, or build some kind of argument in defense. The truth was he'd never really felt lonely, at least not until last May, but Sam's leaving had distorted more than just Dean's view of his father. It had caused him to see their world in a different way, one that resonated far too closely with Moose's observation and he realized he was ready for a change.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Sorry this didn't make it up on Friday, but back to school has thrown me for a loop. Hope the longer chapter makes up for the wait. And thank you for all the very kind reviews. I hope I have touched base with most of you. Feedback is truly a writers friend.

RCJ

"I've got good news and bad news." Caleb dropped his green duffel with a huff.

"Captive audience here." Dean forced a grin, hoping his best friend didn't pick up on the tension his and Moose's conversation had conjured. "Hit me with the bad news."

"It can't be worse than being stuck behind invisible, bullet-proof glass," Moose said naively, obviously not accustomed to their luck.

"Johnny and Bobby are coming." Caleb pulled a rusted tin can out of the bag.

"Dad's coming?" Dean swallowed hard, the strong twang of copper stirring the meager contents in his stomach. He had talked to his father only once since coming to New Jersey for the summer. It had been a stilted one-sided conversation which John ended with a terse 'I'll be expecting you at the end of August.' Dean hadn't bothered to call back. Surprisingly he found he really hadn't missed the man all that much.

"Carmine Vasquez is with them."

"Is that more of the bad news?" Dean and Caleb had worked with Carmine in the spring. He was an expert in supernatural antiquities. Dean could only wonder why the man was teamed up with the dynamic duo now, but the guy made the eccentric Bobby Singer look like a regular Joe. Carmine liked to use his questionable sexuality to shock unsuspecting hunters, playing with them much like a cat might its live dinner.

"Who's Carmine? Another uncle?" Moose asked, eyeing what Caleb was doing.

"No." Caleb and Dean gave a simultaneous resounding reply.

"He's an acquaintance," Caleb added, turning the canister upside down and laying a ring of salt in a perimeter around the mantle. "Knows a lot about antiques."

"Is that salt?" Moose reached to touch the crystals but Caleb caught his arm.

"Don't break the line, Oliver. When you're in here, stay within the circle at all times."

"What's the good news?" Dean interrupted before Moose could ask the obvious question as to why Caleb was spreading a table condiment around the fireplace. Any sane person would have been justified in the query but of course Caleb would not be able to offer a plausible explanation. Rogue spirits and marauding demons drawn to an active supernatural vortex was way beyond invisible bullet proof glass.

"According to their last check-in point, they're not too far away," Caleb replied. "Pastor Jim wanted to come himself, but I promised him you weren't in any immediate danger."

"I finally get to meet your brother." Moose surprised Dean by not forcing the issue of the protection ritual Damien was going through, even when Caleb pulled out a spray can and shook it a few times before standing.

"Johnny's more like a half-brother that I found later in life-one I didn't really want."

"Caleb got me and Sammy out of the deal, so it wasn't a completely unpleasant surprise." Dean hoped he might reclaim Oliver's attention when he heard Caleb start painting. He didn't need to see what the other hunter was doing to know what symbols his best friend was putting on the walls. Moose would think his business partner had completely lost it.

"What I got was a lifetime gig of babysitting." Caleb grunted. "Like an indentured Nanny."

"Dad wasn't too happy about the unexpected acquisition either." Dean grinned at Oliver, thinking of the times his father bitched about having to train Caleb. "He thinks Damien is a pain in the ass, but what's a guy to do."

"I think I might like your dad." Moose warily toed the other case Caleb placed on the floor. Dean was pretty sure the construction foreman would freak out when Caleb pulled out his trusty shotgun and holy water.

Caleb put down the spray can and glanced at Moose. "I'd withhold judgment if I were you. Johnny's not exactly Mister Personality on a good day. _This_ isn't going to be a good day."

"Will they be able to get Little Dude out, like really soon?"

Dean narrowed his gaze at Oliver, the reason for Moose's lack of 'reaction' to the strangeness taking place around him becoming apparent as he stared at Dean like he might expire any time. Moose was a one train of thought kind of guy, which probably made him an asset on the football field but was a liability when Dean wanted nothing more than to derail him. "I'm sure Dad will figure things out when he gets here."

"But when might that be?" Moose ignored Dean, continuing to stare at Caleb.

"Pastor Jim didn't have an exact location, but he put them at less than a day's drive away."

"A day? Like twenty-four hours?"

"Hopefully more like twelve, depending on who's driving."

"They can't hop a plane or maybe the corporate jet you bum on occasion?" Moose waved an animated hand in the air. "What's the good in being filthy rich if you can't work it to your advantage?"

"Chill, Havers. Like Caleb said, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger," Dean resorted to glaring at Oliver, willing the other man to stop with the overreacting. "It's unlikely I'll starve to death, and there's plenty in here for me to drink."

"No." Caleb pointed at him. "We're not having a repeat of the time you found yourself stuck in The Pit at Jim's and got shit-faced before anyone could pull you out. Besides, we don't know what's in that whiskey. It's not like this is some run of the mill bootlegging operation. For all we know it could be Love Potion # 9."

"Leave it to you to suck all the potential fun out of this for me, Damien. I guess you're going to dock my pay, too."

"Who says I'm paying you?" Caleb smirked. "I thought I was providing you with a much needed summer vacation."

"Vacation my ass…" Dean started, only to be interrupted by Moose.

"Dean needs a doctor."

"What?" Caleb looked from Dean to Havers, all hard-earned humor vanishing.

"Damn it, Oliver." Dean should have known better than to think the goodhearted Hulk could keep his mouth shut.

Oliver didn't even bother to look apologetic. "Little Dude is coughing up blood. He might have some internal injuries."

"Deuce?" Caleb had barely turned his gaze to Dean when the younger man felt the psychic intrusion. Damien was usually on stealth mode, his skill allowing him an eerie finesse much like that of an Apache warrior stalking his prey. Caleb could plunder a person's thoughts without them being aware, though someone trained to block such invasion was a different story. Dean knew when Caleb was in his head, and usually paid little attention to it, not feeling the need to hide things, and trusting that the things he did want to keep private Caleb would respect. Injuries were another matter completely.

"I don't have internal injuries. Oliver's exaggerating."

"I don't think so." Caleb got as close to Dean as the spell would allow, his gold eyes never leaving Dean's face. "You fucking lied to me."

"Obviously that's another family trait you two share." Moose folded his arms over his chest. "Pot and kettle, perfect match."

"Shut up, Oliver," Dean and Caleb said at the same time.

"I didn't lie," Dean continued, taking a controlled breath hoping to mask the pain that was intensifying even as he denied being hurt. "I was choosing to be optimistic, taking a page out of your 'glass half full' book."

"Bullshit." Caleb slammed his fist against the barrier.

"So I'm a little more banged up than I let on, it's not like you going into panic mode is going to help things." Dean dropped all attempts at shielding, slumping against the wall. It was futile to play the 'I'm fine' game now and honestly he didn't feel like keeping up the facade.

"I don't panic." Caleb's face belied his words, but his tone softened, whether in response to Dean's white flag or the fact Moose was hanging on their every word Dean wasn't sure. "And how much more banged up are we talking here? Broken ribs?"

Dean sighed. "I don't think my ribs are busted, Dude. I'm hurting, but not like when I've done a real number on them. Maybe I've just banged up my lungs; like that time you got tossed by that bitchy…" Dean caught himself before he said poltergeist, "biker chick with the huge pecs."

"It could be a pulmonary contusion or a pulmonary laceration."

"Come again." Moose's conjectured diagnosis took Caleb's steely gaze from Dean. "I know for a fact you failed anatomy and biology, Moose."

"Yeah, but I spent four years getting pummeled by linemen in college and one year in the pros. I've seen my share of chest trauma, Dude." Moose pointed to Dean. "The lungs can be bruised, or in a worst case scenario, there's what's called shearing."

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. "Neither of those sounds good."

"Like I said, he needs a doctor, better yet a hospital. If not he could be looking at some serious shit. If his lung collapses..."

"I might look like a bug under glass, but this barrier does nothing to distort sound. I can still hear you two." Dean didn't like being talked about like he wasn't even in the room and he didn't need worst case scenarios laid out for Caleb who was more than capable of thinking of them all on his own. "I think it's my call."

"Wrong." Caleb glared at him. "I'm hunter in charge."

"Hunter?" Moose asked.

"It's just a phrase." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look Moose, Dean's right. There's nothing we can do about the medical situation right now. Why don't you take a break? I told Frank we were waiting for some special consultation on this mess. Maybe you could boost morale with the other men. Tell them we're taking a three day weekend starting tomorrow. Come back after everyone is gone for the day."

"Leave it to you to give us some real time off when I can't enjoy it." Dean grumbled.

"No one held a gun to your head and forced you into that passage, Kid."

Moose looked from Caleb to Dean, his frown prominently displaying what he thought about their antics and possibly Caleb's plan. Dean felt bad for Oliver who opened and closed his mouth several times, obviously unsure of how to counter. Finally, he sighed. "Sure, I'll bring us back some dinner."

"Rub it in why don't you," Dean teased, hoping to shift things to the lighter side for the construction foreman. "You and Damien can scarf cheeseburgers and milkshakes while I drown in my own body fluids."

"Maybe your dad will be here," Moose offered, still not quite able to grasp dark humor.

"Now you're just being mean, Dude." Caleb played along, used to the way they dealt with anything from an unexpected flat tire to a gunshot wound. "Why not make the kid re-watch the Yankees and Sox game from last night while we're at it. Point out every error his team made. That will cheer him up."

Moose dropped his chin to his chest, giving a sad shake of his head before turning to leave. Dean heard the muttered, "You two are so messed up," as he walked away.

"He's right you know," Dean said as Caleb sat cross-legged beside him, drawing the gun case up to his lap. "We are pretty screwed up."

"Speak for yourself, dickhead." Caleb removed his shotgun and broke it down, peering inside the chamber before loading it with the salt rounds Dean had created. He flicked his gaze to Dean, a corner of his mouth lifting as he snapped the stock back in place. "I'm freaking awesome."

"Tell that to the architectural world." Dean rested his head against the wall once more, trying not to think about the ever tightening pressure in his chest. "They seem to think you've tumbled from your pedestal."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Caleb stretched out his legs, resting the shotgun across his knees. He met Dean's gaze, and Dean didn't have to guess at what the other hunter was thinking.

"I'm talking about Tri-Corp, and how it's fallen off the map." Dean was determined to steer them away from the looming possibility that he might be in real trouble.

"Is that the story on the streets?"

"I've heard some rumblings." Dean rubbed his arms, knowing it wasn't a good sign that he was feeling chilled in the stifling room.

"Maybe you should consider the source of your intel, Kiddo. First rule of hunting, you know." Caleb tilted his head. "You cold?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's a hundred degrees in here, idiot."

Caleb lifted the flashlight, shining it around the area around Dean. "Maybe there are blankets or other supplies stashed in there."

"Doubtful." Dean forced a half smirk. "Of course if you weren't such a prude I could warm-up with a shot of this whiskey."

"You really want to compound possible shock with poisoning, Deuce?"

Instead of acknowledging the real threat of shock, Dean tried to look warm and redirected. "Why didn't you tell me about Tri-Corp, man?"

Caleb's face contorted with frustration as he made another sweep with the flashlight before finally shutting it off and placing it in easy reach. "What's there to tell, Deuce? The business is in bit of slump. It happens to the best of us."

"Moose said you lost that job in Chelsea? Wasn't that the community center you designed?"

"This is really the conversation you want to have?"Caleb folded his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching in a way that told Dean he'd hit a nerve.

"You'd rather brood about letting part of a house fall on me?"

"I didn't let a house fall on you!"

"Exactly. There was nothing you could have done to stop it."

"That may not be entirely true." Caleb ran a hand through his hair. "I had a part of a vision."

"When?" Dean studied his friend, wondering how he could have missed all the signs. "Did you see me trip the secret passage?"

"This morning after Farley come to get me and no, I didn't see you at all. I think I was watching the spell being cast from the point of view of whoever the hell did it. A woman, I think."

"Then again I don't see how you could have changed anything, so let it go."

"If I'd had the vision earlier than this morning, I might have known there was something off about the mantle."

"Since when do you control when you get visions?"

"You don't understand." Caleb shook his head. "I've been fighting this one for the last couple of days."

Dean shifted, hoping to ease the pinching pain in his right side without alerting Caleb. He gave a light chuckle to mask the gasp the movement elicited. "I guess that explains you taking the Sox loss really hard last night."

Caleb shrugged. "Alcohol _is_ a mental depressant."

"But I'm guessing if it worked as a psychic _suppressant_, you wouldn't be such the light weight when it comes to holding your liquor."

"It took me a few times breaking into Mac's liquor cabinet as a kid to realize that eventually I just pass out, and then the damn vision comes anyway." Caleb gave him a half-hearted smile. "Talk about compounding a hangover."

"You've never been the brightest crayon in the pack, Dude." Dean flashed a smile to soften the jab. "You don't need to depress any of your mental functions. Leave the heavy drinking to us Winchesters."

"Way to kick a guy when he's down, Deuce."

"Speaking of which, I thought the community center was a done deal?" Dean wasn't just curious now; the change in subject gave him something to focus on besides his own growing realization that he was really trapped and helpless. "The last I heard, and I heard more than I wanted while I was a recouping as a captive audience at the farm, the committee was all hyped about your sketches."

Caleb rolled his eyes in exasperation, but answered, "The _committee,_ and I use that term loosely, considering it was comprised of a bunch of pompous business moguls and bored trophy wives who wouldn't know an Alvar Aalto from a Fumihiko Maki design, decided I wasn't showing quite the commitment and enthusiasm they were hoping for."

"Because you were away from the city hunting." Caleb had tried to fill the huge gap Sam's departure had caused last summer, probably hoping to minimize Dean's grief, deflect John's anger. That was before Dean had been hurt in New Mexico, which only served to fuel his best friend's determination to stick close.

"It wasn't just the extra gigs, Deuce." Caleb ran a hand along the barrel of the gun. "I think the prospect of turning thirty spooked me, had me running a little scared, thinking about all the things I hadn't accomplished. I tried to work on another project, literally spread my paint a little too thin."

"You're thirty?" Dean feigned shock, letting his friend off the hook about the community center.

"A fact you would have recalled if you, along with everyone else in our family, weren't so wrapped up in post Christmas euphoria that resulted in my birthday just passing in a blur."

Dean fought back his grin. "No wonder you're freaking out. Thirty is fucking old."

"Shut up." Caleb narrowed his eyes at him, lifting his middle finger in salute. "It will happen to you soon enough, dick head."

"With my knack for trouble that's probably unlikely." Dean gestured to the downed bookcase. "Don't tell me you weren't a little shocked when twenty-one rolled around and I was still in one piece."

"You're going to make it to thirty, and when you do we'll do something amazing to celebrate the landmark occasion, something that makes that visit to Mexico look like a birthday party at Chucky Cheese. Maybe we'll even visit The Playboy Mansion."

"Now there's a reason to live."

"Make sure you remember that when you start to drown in your own body fluids."

Dean appreciated Caleb's willingness to joke about his death. In a twisted way it was proof of Damien's commitment to put Dean's needs before his own. Of course, Dean didn't exactly need further evidence of his best friend's selflessness. "So your midlife crisis has led you to being ostracized to New Jersey, forced to pay the bills by tearing down old heaps in South Amboy."

"Old 'hexed' heaps with secret passages." Caleb quirked a brow. "Don't leave out the best part of the story, Dude."

"I'm sorry." Dean hated that he had been party to putting Caleb in a position that had led to jeopardizing Tri-Corp. Dean might not have pursued baseball the way his best friend did building bridges or Sam had school, but he understood what it was like to have a dream.

"It's not your fault." Caleb gave him a stern look, which quickly morphed into a forced grin. "Actually, I blame your old man for being right."

Dean's head was becoming a little foggy, darkness bleeding into the edges of his peripheral like spilled ink. It was possible he had misheard his friend. "I blame dad for a lot of shit these days, but being right is not on the list."

"I admit Johnny is usually way off the mark, but maybe when it comes to the whole 'hunters can't have normal lives' he's on to something."

"I don't think Mac would agree with that."

"Where do you think I get my annoying optimistic streak?"

"It's not just Mac, dude. Bobby, Jim, hell, even stupid Josh Sawyer, they all manage to have something outside The Brotherhood." Dean had never put much stock in the idea of maintaining a life outside the family business, but the last few months had opened his eyes to the possibilities. "Dad seems to be the only one who believes it has to be all or nothing."

"You're forgetting about the runt." Caleb cut his gaze to Dean, searching for some sign he hadn't made a wrong turn by mentioning Sam. Damien was not one to hold back, and as long as Dean could remember they'd never had a subject they couldn't talk or at least argue about. Sam had become the exception. "Your little brother seems to share Johnny's all or nothing belief when it comes to The Brotherhood. Johnny is just on the side of the 'all' and Sam is all for the 'nothing'."

"Now there's a pot and kettle duo for Moose." If it wasn't so damn sad, it would have been funny that Dean's father and brother spent years arguing the same point, flipsides of the same coin. Dean took a breath, hoping to clear his head. Something rattled deep in his chest and he bit his lip as he exhaled. "I'm beginning to think those two are the ones who are royally messed up."

"Really?"

Dean would have liked to have laughed at Caleb's comic look of shock, but a moment of levity would cost him in his current condition. "Why so surprised, Damien?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I've spent the last few years watching you twist yourself into knots, walk over hot coals, and dodge emotional shrapnel because of those two stubborn jackasses."

"Maybe I finally realized it's not my fight."

"I hope so, man." Dean recognized the skepticism in Caleb's gold eyes. He didn't want to get his hopes up. "But what happens when Sam comes back?"

Dean truly believed that was a moot point but could understand Caleb's concerns. "You really think Sammy's going to come back, Damien?"

For the first time since Sam left, Caleb hesitated. "I don't know, man. Jim still has hope."

"Pastor Jim has also been preaching Jesus's imminent return for the past thirty years."

"To be honest, Kiddo, here lately I would have probably placed money on the Second Coming before Sam's return to the fold. But if this day has taught us anything, it's that just when you think you've gotten out, this life has a way of pulling you right back in again."

"Hunting and the mob, two of life's constants."

Caleb smirked. "Whether Sam comes back or not, I'm glad you're finally putting some blame where it belongs. You have a right to be disappointed."

"I passed disappointed a while back." Dean hugged his arms around his chest, willing himself not to shake. "Now, I'm just really pissed."

"Even better." Caleb nodded, his eyes darkening. "Johnny's had it coming for a while, and Sam, well Sam's been a shit since he went to Stanford."

"I'm not mad at Sammy, Dude. Hell, I ain't even really pissed at Dad." Dean suddenly felt very tired, his eyes impossibly heavy, his body insisting on a nap, like after binging on turkey and dressing at Jim's on Thanksgiving. "I'm mad at myself."

Caleb's brow furrowed, his voice hardening. "Again-you haven't done anything wrong."

"I haven't exactly done anything right either."

"What are you talking about? You do everything John asks you to do, including practically raising his son. You put Sam first even when it cost you things you wanted for yourself, like your own college scholarship."

"That's my point, dude. My whole life, at least since Mom died, I've done what everyone else wanted without much thanks for my trouble. And I get it now you know, they needed me, and I was there for them, but…" Deep breathing was a struggle now. Dean felt lightheaded, exhaustion making his limbs heavy and numb. The inky black encroaching on his vision was now joined by sporadic bursts of light.

"But they haven't exactly returned the favor."

"I didn't do what I did for anyone to pat me on the back."

"That doesn't mean they shouldn't have showed some appreciation, treated you with more respect."

Dean nodded, holding Caleb's gaze. He was starting to accept that his brother and father weren't perfect, that the issues in his family weren't something he could control, because they weren't his issues to begin with. "Maybe I'm having my own mid-life crisis, man, but I want to start doing some of the things I want for a change."

"Like baseball?" Caleb leaned closer to the invisible barrier as if he could sense the spike of fear Dean felt when his eyes seemed to close on their own volition. "It's not too late for college."

"No, man." Dean forced his eyes open, blinked. "That ship has sailed. I'm not really up to chasing it down."

"Then what?"

Dean must have been silent a little too long for Caleb's comfort because when the older hunter said his name it was breathier than usual. "Deuce?"

Dean forced his eyes open. "I don't know, something like this summer."

"Construction work?" Caleb kept pushing. "Don't get me wrong, Kiddo, you're good, but I think your talent and smarts are wasted swinging a hammer."

"I'm not talking a career change, Damien; I'm talking about spending time with the rest of the world sometimes, working a shift that I actually see the sun, catching lunch with my buddies, taking my girl out dancing."

"Is this about that girl you met the other night, what was her name? The yoga instructor?" Caleb snapped his fingers. "Lisa."

"No," Dean huffed at his best friend's one track mind, though thoughts of the dark haired beauty did give him a burst of energy. "I mean, yes, that was her name, and maybe she's part of it, but I'm talking about the whole package, the..."

"Normal stuff?" Caleb suggested with a smug grin.

"For lack of a better word." Dean rolled his eyes."If you tell anyone I said that, especially Sammy, I will kill you."

"There's nothing wrong with liking something besides hunting, Deuce."

"It's not hunting I have a problem with, Damien." Dean had known since he was a kid that he wanted to be in The Brotherhood. It might have started out because of his father's quest for vengeance, but somewhere along the line, it became Dean's choice, his dream. "But Sam leaving, Dad becoming more obsessed with whatever the hell it is he's chasing, made me want something of my own."

"Something like South Amboy, New Jersey."

Dean snorted. "I hear it's a town on the sweeping precipice of change."

"Sounds like you might have something in common with the place."

"I do feel like I've had a wrecking ball hit me a few times." Dean laid his hand on his chest, wishing the invisible elephant who'd taken up residence there would move its heavy ass. He resisted the increasing urge to tell Caleb he was starting to freak out a little, pretty sure the psychic was already aware.

"Sometimes you got to tear down some walls to erect something new, Deuce. Change can be painful."

"Like sprint drills," Dean muttered.

"What?"

Dean wanted to answer Caleb, to explain Moose's metaphor, especially when he recognized the telltale panic in Caleb's voice, heard his friend bang on the invisible shield between them, and curse the witch who had concocted the spell in the first place. As he gave into oblivion, Dean couldn't help but to hope he'd dream of The Landmark Tavern where a burger, cold beer and a girl with the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen waited on him.

End of Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Surprise Friday post! Since I missed last Friday, I thought I'd put this up today. Hope everyone has a happy, blessed weekend. And just for all the very kind reviews, this is the longest chapter yet.

RCJ

The creak of floorboards startled Caleb and he hefted the shotgun to his shoulder without thought.

"Damn, Skid. Is that a gun?" Moose was standing in front of the mantle, two brown bags in one hand, a couple of Styrofoam cups in his other.

Caleb put the gun down and gave a shake of his head. "You shouldn't sneak up on me, Oliver. Ever."

"I wasn't sneaking." Moose took a tentative step forward, careful to step over the salt line. "I even said your name when I opened the door."

Caleb looked back to where Dean was slumped against the unseen partition. He had moved as close as he could to the younger hunter, his shoulder pressing against the barrier so that a constant tingle traveled the length of his arm, uncomfortable but not painful. The fact Moose made it in the house and half way across the room proved Caleb was too focused on his friend. With Dean defenseless, Caleb had to stay alert to the outside world no matter if every instinct he had insisted he stay immersed in the kid's head, monitoring his condition the only way he could. Caleb ran a hand over his face, and motioned for Moose to take a seat. "Sorry, I must have dozed off."

"Looks like Little Dude did, too."

"Oliver, Dean stands over six feet and can out eat you. I think he's probably ready for a new nickname." It was hypocritical Caleb knew, especially considering he was fighting like hell not to think about how young and vulnerable Dean looked asleep. He wiped the image of five year old Dean out of his head and smirked at Moose. "Show a guy a little respect."

"Don't you still refer to Sam as Runt?"

Caleb narrowed his gaze, preferring not to think about Sam when his emotions were raw and exposed. "Sam who?"

"Okay," Moose slid down the wall, tugging at his pants that had shifted in his descent. "How's _Dean_ doing?"

"Dean's unconscious."

"Do you think it's a good idea to let him sleep in his condition?"

"It wasn't like I sung him a fucking lullaby." Caleb bared his teeth, trying to reign in the temper that tended to get him into trouble. Oliver was not the enemy. He released a breath, courting a sense of balance that was always elusive when his worst fears came into play. "He blacked out about half an hour ago."

"What do you think that means?"

"I was hoping you might offer up some insight Dr. Havers." Caleb had gone through his own medical knowledge, praying it was the side effects of shock, possibly lack of oxygen, instead of blood loss from internal bleeding.

"The doctor's out of ideas" Moose held up one of the paper bags, its bottom half darkened with a crescent shaped grease stain. "But I have a bacon cheeseburger and fries."

"Reverting back to the subject you know best, I see." Caleb shook his head, his gaze going back to Dean. He was sure Mac would try to analyze the choice to ignore his appetite as some attempt on Caleb's part to punish himself for letting Dean get hurt, but he couldn't bring himself to eat when Dean had no such luxury. "I'm not hungry."

"Not eating isn't going to help get him out of there." Moose tossed the bag onto Caleb's lap. "The kid wouldn't hesitate if the situation was reversed, and I bet you haven't had anything since breakfast."

Caleb picked up the bag, the happy smell of fried food in a paper sack eliciting a conditioned growl from his empty stomach. Moose was probably right, Dean would inhale the food. As much as he was tempted to at least eat the fries, thoughts of Dean enthusiastically consuming them without one bit of guilt kept him from the traitorous act. He sat the food beside him and gestured to one of the cups Moose held. "I'll stick to coffee for now."

"Suit yourself." Moose handed him the cup with the marks on the top. "But I think Little Dude would expect me to keep my strength up just in case I have to have your back."

Caleb took the drink, noting the marker slashes on top of the white lid. The diner across the street had their own code for cream, sugar and a surprising array of flavored syrups. The fact Moose had memorized Caleb's favorite, and didn't give him a hard time about drinking more warm milk and sweetener than he did the black stuff, brought an ache of guilt. Caleb kicked Oliver's boot.

"I guess I'll owe you some overtime for all this 'having my back'."

"And a bonus for talking Jan down after I told her you'd decided to give the guys a day off tomorrow." Moose unwrapped his burger taking a huge bite. Caleb's mouth watered as a piece of mayonnaise smeared, cheese covered bacon dangled from the top of the sandwich. Oliver plucked the strip from between the bun and waved it about as he continued to talk. "But you could skip the extra pay if you explained why you're armed. I mean are you guarding the stash? Surely you don't think some rival bootlegger is going to come along after all these years and try to take it."

"I'm not worried about thieves." Caleb realized he was following Moose's gestures much like Scout eyeing a piece fried chicken in Pastor Jim's hands. He only hoped there wasn't a shoelace strand of drool hanging from his mouth. Caleb returned his gaze to Dean, watching the younger hunter's chest rise and fall. "I don't give a damn about the booze."

In fact, Caleb hadn't even considered the whiskey. He was too busy thinking about all things supernatural. Tripping a powerful spell sent out spikes in energy, add to it that a silver ring wearing member of The Brotherhood was involved and ripples were bound to travel. Evil spirits, other psychic entities were like vultures drawn to the scent of death. If the witch who cast the enchantment wasn't around, something as bad or even worse could just as easily show up to take her place.

"Then you're being the vigilant protector." Moose crammed a handful of fries in his mouth, washing them down with a gulp of his coffee.

"Something like that." Caleb cradled the gun. "It's not like I can do much else for him."

"My mom says that sometimes the best you can do for a person is to simply be there." Moose shrugged, taking another bite of the burger. "She firmly believes _'I'm here'_ are two of the most powerful words in the dictionary."

"Is that why you're sticking around, Oliver?"

Moose finished off the burger, licking his fingers with a satisfied sigh. "You know I hate to eat alone."

"So now you're finished masticating your dinner, you can head on out." Caleb gestured to the window on the wall across from them. The sky was cast in pink and orange beyond the dirty glass. "It's getting late."

"Not a lot going on in South Amboy on a Thursday night."

"Not a lot going on in here."

"Oh, I think things will probably get interesting pretty soon." Moose looked at Caleb over the rim of his cup. "This _you_ seems to be a lot more exciting than the put-upon broody trust fund kid from college, or that mild-mannered architect you've played the last eight years or so."

"Moose, when have you ever known me to be mild-mannered?"

"Okay, so you're not Clark Kent, but you can't deny you've got this double life going on."

Caleb lost his smile. He held Oliver's gaze. "This life may seem exciting, but it's also very dangerous. Knowing the real me will get you hurt, or even worse, dead."

"I can't believe this. You think I'm like Lois Lane."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation." If the petulant pout hadn't set Caleb laughing, the image of his two-sixty, six foot four construction foreman decked out in a skirt and sensible pumps would have.

"I'm totally more like Jimmy Olsen."

"Dude," Caleb held his side, wishing Dean was awake for this. "Please stop."

"Maybe the editor of the paper. What was his name?"

"How the hell should I know? I'm more of a Batman kind of guy."

Moose opened his mouth, closed it, then slumped back against the wall. "I guess you are more Bruce Wayne than Clark Kent. I mean it's not like you have super powers or anything."

Caleb stopped laughing and Moose's eyes widened.

"Do you?"

"No!" Caleb knew he'd answered too quickly and tried to cover. "I mean, not unless you count my highly trained and tactically skilled body as a secret weapon. I can kill a guy with my pinky and if you saw my utility belt you'd be over the moon with envy."

"That doesn't count, though your superhuman ego might rank as abnormal, maybe even alien among average humans."

Caleb lifted his middle finger, but felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Dean stirred, mumbling something that morphed into a whimper of pain. Caleb didn't think. He reached to place his hand on the younger man's head, cursing the barrier when he was blocked. Caleb felt his cheeks redden with anger and something close to embarrassment. The first emotion was all too familiar, the second foreign. He looked over at Moose and was surprised not to see the pity he expected. Instead, Oliver looked pissed on his behalf.

"Let me ask you something, Moose."

"Anything."

"What makes you think I'm one of the good guys? For all you know, I could be more akin to Joker and Lex Luthor."

Moose picked up a fry, chewed on it a moment as if he were seriously contemplating Caleb's question. He glanced at Dean, then looked back to Caleb. "You've got a sidekick, a partner,bad guys might have minions, but they don't have sidekicks."

Caleb laughed, bringing a hand to his tired eyes. "Deuce would so kick your ass if he heard you call him a sidekick."

"Then I guess it's a good thing The Boy Wonder is behind a layer of bullet proof glass."

"You keep forgetting I'm going to get out, eventually." The groggy voice had both men looking towards Dean. The kid's eyes weren't open, but his breathing had definitely changed, heavier and faster than Caleb would have liked.

"Deuce?"

Dean opened his eyes a crack, a half smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "I'm no one's Robin. _I'm_ the Caped Crusader."

"Keep telling yourself that, Kiddo."

Dean shifted with a groan he couldn't quite muffle. "Do I spy a paper sack?"

Caleb smirked, trying to stamp down his worry and hide his immense relief. "Moose brought you dinner as promised."

"Inconsiderate bastard," Dean muttered, wincing when he tried to push himself up.

"It's probably best you stay as still as possible."

"That's good considering moving is proving to be a real bitch."

"How you doing?"

"I'll say I'm good if you tell me Dad and Bobby showed."

"Not yet." Caleb glanced at Moose, remembering their conversation from earlier. Caleb was a man of action first. If he could have physically brought John Winchester any faster he would have made it happen, but like Oliver's Mom, he also understood that words had a special power of their own. "But I'm here."

Dean stared at him for a moment seeming to understand that the simple declaration meant more than a statement of the obvious. In typical fashion he let the emo moment slide and half-grin lifting gracing his face. "Yeah, I see that. Eating cheeseburgers and playing sleepover games with your buddy Moose."

"You're just jealous you woke up too late to join in on Truth or Dare."

"Actually, I'm just glad I woke up _after_ Spin the Bottle."

Moose let loose a hoot, slapping his leg. "The stuff this kid says still kills me." –

"He's hilarious alright." Caleb's cell phone rang keeping him from commenting farther, though Moose continued on reminiscing with Dean about how Dean had once talked Moose into taking him for a fake henna tattoo. Caleb didn't care what they talked about as long as Dean stayed awake. He put the shotgun aside and struggled to his feet, not an easy task considering he'd been sitting beneath the mantle for far too long. Jan's frantic voice greeted him on the other end, barely letting him get in a hello before she launched into how their office had just been invaded.

"JB, what the hell are you going on about?" Caleb stepped a few feet away listening as the woman took a deep breath, and told Caleb that some rude men dressed in hazmat suits had just left her office and were headed his way. They had government badges, and after asking for Caleb's location they ordered her to close up shop and head home.

"Then you should do what they say." Caleb rubbed the back of his neck as Jan continued to rant about finishing pay roll, and how her health insurance did not cover accidental exposure to hazardous materials. John must have been a lot closer than Pastor Jim realized. This reeked of one of Bobby's great cover schemes.

"It's okay, JB, I'll come back this weekend to do the payroll. I actually know how to do paperwork when I have to." Jan ended the conversation as she did all that didn't please her with Caleb should be expecting a phone call from Cullen. Obviously JB had no clue that Caleb could do no wrong in his grandfather's eyes and would more than likely be highly entertained by Jan's over exaggeration of her current boss's antics. The old man might call him, but it would be more likely for an invitation for a steak dinner than any kind of reprimand. Caleb had just slid the phone back in his pocket when the front door banged open, the entranceway quickly filled will a hulking figure donned in bright yellow gear. Caleb only wished John Winchester had the same soft spot for wayward orphans as Cullen Ames.

"About time you showed up, Johnny." Caleb would have known it was John even without tapping into his psychic abilities. The man's distinctive body language, like that of a pissed off grizzly about to give chase, gave The Knight away. "Or should I say Federal Agent Winchester."

John pulled off the head covering, tossing it aside before striding toward Caleb with a menacing glower. Caleb stood his ground, knowing that to look away now would be a sign of weakness. He opted for what John would consider open aggression instead. Caleb folded his arms over his chest, tilted his head, and gave a small grin. "What brings the EPA here today? Virulent black mold? Asbestos? Extraterrestrial contact?"

"My first guess is we're looking at an encounter with a couple of idgets, a good old case of the stupids," Bobby replied, removing his own head gear. He held it under his arm, and glanced around the room as he joined John. "Honestly, boys, aliens would be a nice change for once."

"I once came across an artifact that I suspected might have originated from another galaxy." Carmine rounded out the trio. He'd already half-way stripped out of his suit, the top half hanging from his slim waist. He wore a simple white t-shirt over his squat compact upper body, topping it off with a black leather vest, and a colorful medicine bag. His long dark hair was gathered at the nape of his neck, where it hung in braid down his back."Turns out it was a cursed handmade bong dating back to Woodstock."

Caleb doubted that particular antiquity ever made it to Pastor Jim's, but he kept focused on the huffing bear in front of him.

"Junior, I don't like getting called off the hunt by The Guardian. What's going on that you couldn't handle?"

"Caleb let a house fall on me," Dean spoke, drawing all eyes to the mantle, preventing Caleb's comeback that would have not been happily received. "Just like you said he would."

Caleb glared at his best friend, recalling how they had laughed behind John's back when the man had showed his confidence in Caleb's request that Dean come to work for Tri-Corp during the summer by naming a list of things that could and probably would go wrong. The top one, and most preposterous at the time being that Dean would be buried in a construction fiasco. "I did not let a house fall on you. That was Moose."

"I told him not to go in there." Moose denied as John and Bobby moved closer to the mantle. Oliver scooted out of the way, making it to his feet when John bent to get a better look at Dean.

"You alright, Ace?"

"As good as a guy can expect when a shelf of bootleg whiskey falls on him."

"Did someone mention bootleg whiskey? As in prohibition booty? " Carmine bent at the waist so he could peer into the space beyond Dean. "Could I see a bottle?"

"Why exactly is he here?" Caleb asked, pinning Carmine with a look that had the hunter taking a step back.

"He _was_ helping me with an important project," John replied as evasive as ever. It made Caleb wonder if The Knight had been truthful with the Guardian concerning his latest coordinates. His mentor slid his hand around the shield that kept them from Dean. "_Now_ he's here to help you and Dean out of this mess."

"Which is actually quite handy considering I happen to have a wealth of knowledge about the twenties era." Carmine glanced at Caleb, winked. "I'd be glad to show you my collection of Tommy Guns sometime."

"What did you two do to get in this mess?" Bobby grabbed the discarded flashlight and shined it around the mantle. He turned the light on Caleb, shining it directly in his face as if it were an interrogation. "Is that Cocobolo rosewood, Kid?"

Caleb shielded his eyes with one arm dreading the reprimand his answer was going to bring. "Yes."

Bobby aimed the light on the floor, his look of disappointment almost as searing as the bright strobe. "Damn, Junior. You didn't think that it was strange to find it in some falling down shack?"

"There are identical ones in two of the other houses also," Moose spoke up. "Caleb planned on taking them out before finishing the demolitions."

"Don't help me, Oliver." Caleb glanced at his friend, then turned back to Bobby. "I thought the architect might have run across a rogue supply, did a custom job."

"Because Cocobolo is such a cheap building material." Bobby snorted, turning his gaze to John. "Any ideas you've got of forcing our way in or out of that area are off the table. My guess is this place is wrapped up tighter than Fort Knox."

John ran a hand through his hair. "How did you trigger the passageway, Dean?"

"I tapped one of the carvings with a mallet." Dean shifted and Caleb held back on pointing out that they had agreed moving was a bad idea. "The panel opened, I went inside. Things went south when I picked up this bottle from the shelf."

"I really would like to see a bottle." Carmine once again nudged his way into the tight space, and Dean held up the whiskey. "Is that a fleur-de-lis on the bottle?"

"The whiskey isn't important!" Caleb snapped. "Getting Dean out is the priority mission."

Carmine stood, propping his hands on his hips. "Actually, the origin of the alcohol could be a key factor in us discovering who cast the spell."

"Spell?" Moose looked from Carmine to Caleb. "As in magical spell?"

"Is there any other kind?" Carmine grinned at Oliver, held out his hand. "I don't believe we've met. Carmine Vasquez, proprietor of the well-known Bait & Hook of Colorado fame, and of course Brotherhood expert in antiquities and oddities. You are…"

"Nobody." Caleb gritted his teeth, looking to his mentor who was still studying the stone wall around Dean. "John?"

"Removing the whiskey was like tripping the alarm." The Knight scratched his chin. "It signaled a lock down."

"I thought the ceiling was caving in," Dean explained. "The bottles started falling, the shelf came unhinged and that's when the…the invisible bulletproof glass slid into place."

"Invisible bulletproof glass?" John looked from his son to Caleb. "Does he have a concussion?"

"I thought it sounded like bullshit, too," Moose ignored Caleb's earlier directive. "I'm thinking some kind of electromagnet force field, but the power source…"

"Oliver, right?" John stood, practically shoving Carmine out of the way as he moved towards Moose. He inclined his head to the construction foreman.

"Oliver Havers, Sir." Moose extended his hand to John. "We've never met, but I've heard a lot about you over the years."

"I can imagine." John shook Moose's hand, his eyes narrowing. "It will make what I'm about to say a whole lot easier."

"And that is?"

"Get the hell out of here, Kid."

"Excuse me."

"You heard me. Scram. The EPA has officially sealed this house off as a crime scene. You need to exit the building immediately."

John glanced to Caleb. "I'm sure Junior will compensate you for the time you've lost."

"I'm not here for the money, Mr. Winchester and I know you're not with the EPA."

"And I'm not asking you nicely again, Son."

"But what about Dean? He's hurt. He needs medical attention."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, but I…"

"Then refer to my earlier directive."

"Moose, it's okay. You should head out." Caleb stepped in between Oliver and John. "Dean and I will see you next week. Back to work as usual."

"You were right about the personality." Moose met Caleb's gaze, the sympathy Caleb feared earlier now easily read in the other man's eyes. He lifted his hand to Dean. "Hang tight, Little Dude."

"I'm taking a rain check on that burger, Moose."

"You bet. My treat on Monday." Moose nodded to Carmine, crossed the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"What was he talking about Dean needing medical treatment?" John pinned Caleb with a hard stare. "Jim said there were no serious injuries."

"I didn't want to worry Jim." Caleb covered. He glanced at Dean and then back to John. "He could have internal injuries, compromised respiration."

"I'm not checking out anytime soon," Dean interjected and to his credit he did a good job of sounding confident in his condition.

"Then we need to find who cast the spell ASAP." John folded his arms over his chest as if he had just proclaimed the solution to Dean's release.

Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and mimicked his mentor's stance. "No problem, I'm sure the town of South Amboy keeps a registry of witches and warlocks."

"That's about all I'm going to take of the smart…" John started only to be interrupted by Dean.

"Caleb had a vision."

"That true?"

"It wasn't exactly a vision." Caleb ran a hand through his hair, not about to admit he'd probably stunted the one good clue they might have had. He'd deal with the weight of that guilt on his own without John rubbing in his epic fail. "I got enough to know our crafter was a woman, white, probably pretty up in years at the time she did the work if the condition of her hands was any indication."

"That's not a lot, Kid." John made little effort to hide his disappointment. Caleb found it ironic that John would rant about his abilities in most scenarios yet expect them to give a leg up in another.

"It's not like he can control his abilities like a live video stream, Dad."

"I don't think I asked you for your opinion, Son." John shifted his disgruntlement to Dean. John was also fickle as hell when it came to his boys. At times it seemed to Caleb his mentor expected Sam to mouth off, to butt heads with him, but when it came to Dean, dissention of any kind was prohibited.

"If I waited for you to ask what I thought, I'd never get to speak." Any other time Caleb would have encouraged Dean to speak his mind, to even have it out with John, especially considering the kid was safely ensconced behind a magical barrier, but Dean's condition warranted caution.

"Maybe you should take that as a hint," John countered.

"Maybe you should try not being such an ass," Caleb growled, hoping to regain the angry bear's attention.

"Maybe we all should stop the bickering and focus on the problem at hand!" Bobby attempted to be the voice of reason. He gripped Caleb's arm, tugging him out of John's swiping radius. "South Amboy might not have a supernatural database, but I'm betting they have deeds, and records of sale. We need to find out who this house belonged to when it was built."

"I have someone working on that." Caleb glanced at his watch, surprised Farley hadn't called him yet. The courthouse and library had to be closed by now, but knowing Frank he'd struck up a conversation with a clerk and had completely lost focus. He pulled out his cell, scrolling through his list of contacts. "I'll see what he's found out so far."

"Damn, Caleb. You exposed another outsider to this gig?" John's accusation had Caleb halting his call. He knew Oliver being here when John showed was going to earn him an eventual dressing down and probably a few weeks of training maneuvers. The Knight's hands went to his hips, his lips thinning in a scowl as the wrinkles on his forehead deepened. "Why don't you just sell tickets to the fucking circus show, Kid?"

"I sent a man who works for me to search for a deed, John. Business as usual." It wasn't entirely true, but Caleb wasn't going to explain that Franklin Farley was the last person they wanted getting a whiff of their business. The man would talk to anyone and everyone who would listen. "Frank thinks I want to know who built the damn place, I fed him some crap about altered blueprints. He had no idea what's going on in here and neither did Moose."

"Even if we find the owner, how the hell we going to track down who did this, Bobby?" John chose to ignore Caleb's perceived transgression which would no doubt resurface later like a vampire not properly staked and burned. He turned to the mechanic. "The guy has to be dead."

Bobby shrugged. "If there are surviving relatives, they might be able to shed some light on the skeleton in the family closet. Maybe they'll have some story about dear old grandpa dabbling in the black arts back when he was a bootlegger."

"If not, I might have found something to help."

"If we're back on the whiskey again…" Caleb growled.

"Not the whiskey, although I still think that's worth looking into." Carmine pointed to the bottom of the mantle. "I've been studying this beauty more closely and I have to say these carvings look familiar."

"The smiling man?" Dean asked.

"I don't think it's an actual face, young Winchester." Carmine kept a finger on the etching and looked to John. "I've seen it before. In fact, I think it's a crescent moon and two stars."

John knelt by Vasquez, touching one of the other intricate squares. "A mark of a coven?"

Carmine nodded. "I'm not sure which one, but I'm almost positive I've come across some ceremonial bowls with this design."

"Like an artist's signature." Caleb joined his mentor by the mantle, staring over The Knight's shoulder. "If that's the case, Missouri might be able to help."

"Carmine, what do you need to work the whiskey angle?" John asked.

"A sketch of the symbol on the bottle Dean has for starters," Vasquez glanced up at Caleb. "A fax machine would also be helpful."

"I have a computer and fax machine set up in our headquarters back where you terrified my secretary." Caleb stepped around the antiquities dealer. He stopped at Dean's discarded toolbox to grab a graphite pencil and pocket sized spiral notebook. He bent in front of the trapped hunter. "Deuce, lift the bottle so I can get a better look at the label."

Dean held it up with a smirk. "Will you doodle me some dragons after you're done, Damien?"

"Maybe even some naked ladies if you're good." Caleb bit his lip, easily recreating the swirls and contours from the gold label with broad strokes. Carmine was right. The symbol was a twisted vine; at the heart it held a bold fleur-de-lis. Thoughts of his grandmother flooded his mind anytime he saw the symbol. Ruth had sewed several different swatches of the image into the quilt she'd made Caleb when he was a child-so he'd always remember where he'd come from. You couldn't walk the streets of the French Quarter of New Orleans and not be bombarded by it.

"Bobby, I want you to stay with Dean and see if you can get in touch with Missouri. Even if she doesn't recognize the coven she might be able to give us some insight into the kind of spell we're looking to break. Junior and I are going to track down his friend in person, and see if he has any useful information for us."

"I'd rather stay here with Dean." Caleb stood, tearing the rough sketch from the notepad. He handed it to Carmine before facing off with John. "I can call Farley."

"Sorry, Damien, but I'd really rather hang with Bobby," Dean replied, not giving John the chance.

Caleb turned to frown at his friend. Dean's silent message of 'don't push your luck, idiot', echoing across their psychic connection. John's commands were not to be challenged on a hunt especially in front of a ring bearing hunter outside their close knit circle. Caleb typically abided with the irritating facet of his position as The Knight's protégé in mixed company, but his priority had always been and would always be Dean and Sam's safety, Brotherhood protocol be damned. Though there was nothing Caleb could physically do for the younger hunter, he was reluctant to leave.

"I've stared at your bitch face all summer." Dean sat up straighter, obviously attempting to look more with it. "Besides, Frank's going to want to see you face to face to give his report. He likes to feel important."

Dean had a point. Frank was always the first to find Caleb in the mornings, insisting he give a rundown of the day's agenda. He was probably holding out to deliver a detailed report of his findings.

"Your loss, Kiddo." Caleb dropped the pencil and pad on the floor. "I was going to make you an anime erotic flipbook, complete with busty Asian beauties."

"On second thought…" Dean started.

"Let's move, Junior." John interrupted the banter, heading for the door. "We'll take the van."

Caleb tossed the keys to his office to Carmine and met Bobby's gaze, poised to tell the mechanic to call him if there was the least change in Dean's condition. The grizzled mechanic stopped him with a lifted hand and an exasperated roll of his eyes. "The sooner you stop fretting and get the hell out of here, Lassie, the sooner we free your boy Timmy from the well."

Caleb let a snide grin and a one-fingered salute suffice as his reply before heading out after John.

End of Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: This was originally two chapters but since a couple of you pointed out that I missed my regular posting last week, I thought I'd double up. Thank you again for all the kind reviews, and it looks like I may rap this story up just in time for the new season to start, which I am optimistically, possibly foolishly, hoping will go well. ;-) Please note for those of you concerned, Lisa was just a very convenient plot device. In our AU Ben is Dean's son, so this timing worked out perfectly as Dean would have been 22 or 23 when Ben was conceived. It gave me a chance to plant the seed, and Dean as well. (I know that's bad, but it's been a long Monday). Anyway, having her pop up in South Amboy in a time in Dean's life when he was embracing a tiny bit of normal seemed so fitting, that Ben was a product of that, even better.

RCJ

Moose hadn't been exaggerating when he said there was nothing happening in South Amboy on a Thursday night. Downtown was deserted, the streets quiet as they pulled into one of the parking spaces allocated for the courthouse. Frank was waiting in one of the Tri-Corp work trucks, per the arrangements Caleb had made with the man over the phone. He climbed out of the cab as Caleb and John got out of the nondescript white van with the fake federal tags Bobby had scammed.

"How's Dean?"

Caleb read sincere concern in Farley's dark eyes and hoped John took note also. Dean had easily won over the work crew, carved out a place for himself in Tri-Corp, Caleb's 'make believe' world as John liked to refer to it. There was a part of him that longed to say 'I told you so' to his mentor, but now was not the time to one up John.

"He's hanging in there." Caleb gestured to John. "Frank, this is Agent Erskine with the EPA." They had decided to go with Bobby's story. "It looks like we might have some kind of asbestos issue in 303."

"Is that why you closed up shop for tomorrow?" Frank looked from John to Caleb. "Moose called to tell me the good news about the long weekend I mean. He said Dean was still in that surprise room."

Frank's look was skeptical and Caleb once again found himself lying to one of his colleagues. This would be something John would be assured to take note and use as ammunition at a later date. "Dean's fine, just riding out the Fed's over cautiousness. We're hoping the blueprints of the place may shed some light on the best way to proceed."

"We really want to keep exposure to a minimum until we can clarify and assesses the situation." John sounded knowledgeable and just a tad pretentious, which was perfect for his federal government cover.

Frank scratched his chin. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Did you find who owned the house in the twenties?" Caleb had asked on the phone, not surprised when Frank's reply was cryptic. Deuce was right. Farley wanted an audience.

"There's a slight problem. Computers only go back to the seventies."

"You couldn't have told me _that_ over the phone." Caleb was not going to be pleased if Frank's grandstanding cost them time, cost Dean time.

"What about the paper archives?" John asked.

"That's what I've been going through for the last four hours." Frank shook his head. "Miss Shiny, that's the lovely ninety year old lady they keep chained to the desk down in the archives, and let me tell you she's not sparkly or bright as her name might lead you to think, forgot to mention that the archives here only go back to the fifties. Seems there was a flood due to The Great Hurricane of 1944, which I now know entirely too much about, the damaged records, those that could be recovered and restored that is, were moved to some township historical museum in Pennsylvania of all places."

"Damn," Caleb ran both hands through his hair. It didn't look like they were going to catch a break. "Did you at least get the record of who owned it in the 50's?"

"I did, and who owned it ten years later, and five years after that, all the way up to 2000 when it and the five tracks next to it got bought up by the developers we're dealing with today."

Caleb took the papers Frank held out to him, sharing a look with John. "Any hope the original owner might have been the one to sell in the fifties?"

"Doubtful," Farley answered. "I pulled the county clerk file on the men who were involved in that transfer of deed, both of them in their twenties at that time."

"Damn."

"We'll have to track down the original records." John gazed off toward the courthouse. "Did Miss Sunshine happen to give you a contact name in Pennsylvania?"

"Ms. Shiny said she could place a call to the museum for me tomorrow. It opens at 10, but maybe _The Man_ can get someone to open up shop a lot sooner."

"I may know some people." The older man's sigh let Caleb know they were in for a long drive to Pennsylvania followed up with a last minute black bag job.

"Is there anything else you need me to do, Boss?"

"No, Frank. You might as well head on back to Brooklyn; surprise your wife with the long weekend." Caleb appreciated Farely's help, but would feel better when his nosiest employee was safely across the bridge in New York.

"Damn, you sure my services aren't needed here?" Farley looked to John. "I don't mind getting my hands dirty. My granddaddy worked the coal mines in Virginia. A little asbestos doesn't really scare the Farley men."

"The less people involved the better." John shot Caleb a look that told the younger hunter that statement was a reminder for him and started for the van without another comment to Farley.

"Feds are full of personality," Frank harrumphed.

"You have no idea." Caleb shook Farley's hand and promised he'd have some overtime coming before starting after John. It was going to be a long ride to Pennsylvania. John was on the phone when Caleb got in. It didn't take much for Caleb to figure out Bobby was on the other line. He bit his lip to keep from asking about Dean as he easily picked up on The Knight's frustration.

"Well, damn, Bobby that doesn't exactly make our job any easier." John started the van, his free hand whipping the wheel to take them out of the parking lot. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

Caleb heard Bobby swear, caught his disgruntled 'don't bitch out the fucking messenger' reply before John turned to relate the bad news. "Missouri thinks the coven we're looking for disbanded over fifty years ago, its members merging with other covens, some of them starting a different coven that later joined up with some of the witches that aren't exactly friendly with The Brotherhood."

Caleb leaned back in the seat. "Did she at least have anything to tell us about the spell?"

John kept the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder listening to Bobby's response as he reached over Caleb and pulled an Atlas from the glove box. Instead of relaying any further information Bobby might be sharing, he tossed the map in Caleb's lap, grunting at something Singer said. Caleb assumed he was supposed to work out the quickest route to Pennsylvania. The ringing of his own cell gave him an excuse to delay his task as navigator. It was Carmine. Caleb prayed the man had something better to report.

"What've you got?"

John leaned over and punched his finger on the atlas. Caleb rolled his eyes, but flipped the well-worn book open and began leafing through the pages as he tried to understand Vasquez's excited spiel about the whiskey.

"Slow down," Caleb was talking to Carmine, but from the way John was slinging him around in the van as they made their way into the city, he hoped his mentor took note to the directive as well. "Who the hell is Lily?"

"_Lily's isn't a who, she's a speakeasy." _

"A what?" Caleb pressed the phone closer to his ear to better hear Carmine over John's heated conversation with Bobby.

"_An establishment that sold illegal alcohol in the twenties and early thirties, also called a blind pig, like the 21 Club and…" _

"I know what a speakeasy is, Carmine." Caleb cut the antiquities dealer's prattling off as he turned on the van's interior light so he could read the map. You couldn't watch as many old gangster movies as he and Dean had as kids, and not daydreamed about walking into the Stork Club or Cotton Club dressed in Capone's signature suit and silk tie with a couple of hot broads in skimpy flapper dresses on your arm. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He heard Carmine sigh dramatically on the other end and wondered how the man had survived a hunt with John Winchester in one piece.

"_Remember the fleur-de-lis on the label of the bottle? Fleur-de-lis literally translates to flower of the lily. It was the trademark symbol of the signature alcohol sold at _Lily's_, one of the most well-known speakeasies in Jersey. Unlike a lot of swill that was passed out in those days, Lily's had a reputation for the good stuff, the really good stuff, so talked about that it's rumored to have caught the eye of a prominent New York family, and by prominent I'm not talking the Vanderbilts."_

"I get what you're saying." Caleb stopped fiddling with the atlas, realizing that John had hung up with Bobby and was now casting impatient sidelong glances towards him as they barreled down the lonely streets of South Amboy. He looked even unhappier than before, which made Caleb worry about what Missouri had told Bobby about breaking the spell.

"_It was rumored to be a favorite of Bugs Moran." _

"So the mob took a keen interest in this particular bootleggers operation, forcing him to take extreme measures to hide it?" Any other time Caleb would have jumped on the Bugs Moran connection, knew Dean would get a huge kick out of the fact he might have uncovered one of the most infamous mobster's favorite brew, but at the moment getting Dean free was Caleb's only concern, and Carmine's coyness was making him crazy. "Not many men are brave enough, or stupid enough to take on the family."

"_The bootlegger in question, or should I say bootleggers, were the Lily brothers, a unique family in their own right as it turns out." _

"You got the name of the guy who owned the house?" Caleb motioned for John to pull over, hoping their impromptu trip to Pennsylvania might just be cancelled. The Knight swung into a side street, stopping the van, but leaving the engine running. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

"_I wanted to explain that the whiskey, which you thought of no consequence, turned out to be the key in breaking this job wide open. As the resident antiquities authority in The Brotherhood I feel my expertise is often…" _

Caleb didn't get a chance to interrupt Carmine's self-promotion. The Knight grabbed the phone from him, snarling into the receiver.

"Damn it, Carmine, cut the crap. Who are we looking for?"

On a typical day Caleb would have bitched about the bulldozer move, John's tendency to take over whenever things weren't moving fast enough, but The Knight's tactic appeared to work with Carmine because John cut the connection only after a couple of minutes.

"Do you know where State Route 35 is?"

"Yeah, Deuce and I went to a pizza place out by the harbor a few times." Caleb motioned to the main road. "Take a right and keep heading south."

John turned the van around and started once more. "We're looking for a place called Lily's."

"The speakeasy Carmine was going on about? It's still around?"

"Carmine says the family owned place is still in business. You sure you and Ace haven't been there, too? It's a bar now."

"Doesn't exactly sound like our kind of locale, Johnny." Still, Caleb did a mental catalog of the places he could remember seeing on their numerous trips to Sciortino's. Lily's didn't jump out at him, but there were a lot of pubs and restaurants in that area. .

"Don't let the name fool you, Kid. Carmine says it's got a reputation as drawing in interesting clientele."

Caleb wondered if the place could still have ties to the mafia. If so, he and Dean might have to check it out after all this was over. "We've been renting a room over a pub, not exactly a lot of reason to go out bar hopping."

"Carmine said the original owners were the Lily brothers, hence the name. They were an Irish immigrant family and their father opened the place in the late 1800's. It hit its prime during prohibition when the old man started selling signature whiskey, an old Irish recipe."

"So did Carmine give you a name to go along with the history lesson?"

"He did in fact." John cut his gaze to Caleb. "Liam Lily, the oldest son, was supposedly the master brewer of the coveted and profitable whiskey."

"You think he owned the houses?"

"Makes sense, but I'm betting we won't find a real name on any paperwork. If you're trying to hide from the mob, you sure aren't going to advertise. Hopefully his great, great grandson, Garrett Lily will be able to tell us more. The kid still manages the place."

Caleb shook his head, looking out at the nightscape passing by them in a blur. "Carmine must have one hell of a contact."

"Vasquez might be colorful, but he's connected, Kid. Why else do you think I'd ride halfway across the country with that loon and Bobby?"

Caleb turned to meet John's gaze understanding the question was completely rhetorical. "I was thinking your enthusiasm for road trips and antiquing with close pals?"

The Knight frowned at him, his eyes going back to the road. "Intel is everything, Kid."

Caleb resisted a smart ass reply. Instead, he watched his mentor's face as the older hunter concentrated on driving. Sometimes the man was an enigma, like an incomplete blueprint. Just when Caleb thought he'd pinned down the exact schematics to his makeup, another hidden place presented itself, almost like a secret passage, albeit one more apt to be found in a fun house, littered with mazes and distorted mirrors.

John was obviously using Carmine for information, but Vasquez wasn't the only one connected. As The Knight of The Brotherhood, John had access to hundreds of sources, a vast network. He was methodic, verging on obsessive when it came to research. Whatever John was after was big and he wanted to keep it off the radar, away from The Guardian's watchful eye. That made it dangerous beyond the scope Caleb was used to. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He returned his gaze to the road, comforting himself with the link he had to Dean. For the first time since Sam had left for Stanford, Caleb wondered if the kid's distance from his family wasn't a blessing in disguise. That only left Caleb one son to keep out of the line of fire, one charge to protect from the fallout and flying shrapnel when whatever John was planning inevitably blew up in spectacular Winchester fashion.

RCJ

The entrance to Lily's was deceiving, looking more like the doorway to a private residence. It would have made good cover for the speakeasy in the twenties. It was probably why Caleb hadn't noticed the quaint bar when he and Dean had passed it on the way to Sciortinos, although the wrought iron fleur-de-lis over the door should have caught his eye. _Lily's_ was written in flowing gold letters on the thick paned window, a twisting green vine like the label, flourished on the walls, climbing up the dark bricks to frame the door. There was no doubt they were in the right place.

Once inside the bar opened up to a grand establishment that put some of the swanky places in Manhattan to shame. High ceilings boasted state of the art track lighting, reflecting on walls painted deep crimson, brightening the mahogany floors. A variety of framed black and white photographs decorated the walls displaying haunting scenes of a much older New Jersey shoreline and some of the city's famous residents of long ago. He briefly wondered if Bugsy Moran and Capone were somewhere in any of the scenes-another reason for him and Dean to visit the place again.

John didn't seem impressed by the décor or the artwork. He weaved in and out of the white marble high-top tables with their wrought iron stools, making his way to the center of the room where the black lacquered bar rose up like a stage. Caleb followed; grateful the place was fairly emptied of patrons. A mirrored wall behind the bar served as a backdrop for the hanging crystal glasses and decanters of whiskey, wine and tequila. There were several men seated at the far end watching a ball game on one of the two massive television screens above the bar, two women in a business suits sat at another. John took a chair in the center, huffing his impatience as the bartender mixed the ladies their martinis.

"Glaring at the back of his head isn't going to make him work any faster." Caleb spoke just loud enough to be heard over the bluesy music in the background. "Take a breath and try to remember Pastor Jim's wise words about getting more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"What happened to the guy desperate to get his best buddy out of this most current jam he got him into?"

Caleb didn't need reminding Dean was waiting on them. Thankfully the bartender greeted them before Caleb had a chance to respond to his mentor's needling. He didn't have time for a bar brawl with John.

"What can I get you two gentlemen?" The bartender couldn't have been much older than Sam, the crisp white shirt, black vest and bow tie he was wearing making him look like he might be headed to his high school prom.

"How about some information, Kid?" John tossed one of his many fake badges on the bar top, giving the young man his best drill sergeant 'tell me what I want to hear or drop and give me fifty' glower.

"And a pitcher of whatever you've got on tap," Caleb added smoothly, slapping a fifty on the bar. The bartender's gaze slid from the gold shield to the money, then he looked to Caleb who jutted his chin to one of the small booths that lined the far wall. "We'll take it over there if you don't mind."

The kid took the money with a sharp nod. "Pilsner okay, Sir?"

Caleb grinned, picking up the big glass bowl of nuts from in front of him. "You bet."

"What the hell was that?" John grabbed his badge and followed after Caleb who made his way to the farthest booth from the door.

"That's called finesse, Johnny. You should try it sometime." Caleb might not have time to argue with John, but that didn't stop him from getting in a few blows to the man's ego.

John slid into the opposite seat from Caleb, dropping his badge on the table. "Throwing money at a situation isn't always the answer, Junior."

"Neither is going straight for the jugular of the guy you're trying to pump for information, but that never stopped you, Mr. Subtlety." Caleb scooped up a handful of nuts, knowing drinking on an empty stomach would not bode well for his patience for dealing with John or the hunt at hand.

"For a guy struggling to stay in the black, you're playing fast and loose with your resources." John pulled the bowl closer to him, picking a couple of cashews out of the mix. His dark eyes studied Caleb. "Should I be worried about my investment?"

Caleb tried not to let the rush of emotion show on his face. He didn't know how John new about Tri-Corp's current cash flow problem, but suspected Mac had something to do with it. Caleb hadn't talked to his father directly, but he had gone to Cullen for some business advice. "Feel free to cash out your shares anytime. I'm sure I can liquidate enough stock to give you a nice return."

The prom king showed up with their beer before John could respond in kind to Caleb's challenge. He put the pitcher and two glasses on the table, staring at them expectantly. "What else, officers?"

"We're looking for the owner of this place," John explained as he poured himself a glass before pushing the pitcher towards Caleb. "Garrett Lily?"

"Rett usually comes in before the rush to work on the previous night's receipts, cover the bar when I take a break, that kind of thing." The kid glanced at his watch. "He should be showing up anytime now."

"Then I'm sure you'll let him know we're waiting to talk to him when he shows."

"You bet." Prom King nodded, his gaze going to Caleb. "Anything else? Some food while you wait. Our bar pies are off the chain, clam chowder was voted best on the shore."

"Give us two bowls," John answered for them both. Caleb shook his head at the man's presumptiveness when the kid walked away.

"I'm not hungry."

"That's why you're treating the bar snacks like your own personal entree." John slid the peanuts back into Caleb's reach. "I don't need you crashing from all the psychic energy you're expending."

"You been reading Mac's brochures on the proper care and feeding of freaks again?" From anyone else the reminder that using his abilities depleted resources might have still been irksome, but would have brought a rush of warmth, sort of like when a parent reminds you for the hundredth time to button your coat, or brush your teeth before bed. With John, however, whether it was intended or not, the nudge to eat felt more like needling, a poke at a particular weak spot.

"Speaking of your talents, how is Dean?" John expertly redirected the conversation, proving Caleb and Dean didn't spontaneously develop the ability.

Caleb took a moment to focus on pouring his beer, knowing it would irk The Knight. "You tell me. You're the one who talked to Bobby."

"I think we both know your link with Ace provides better information than any secondhand info Bobby might have relayed. I'm guessing you've kept it wide open since you lost visual."

Caleb's abilities didn't allow him an in depth analysis of his best friend's condition, only a sense of intense feelings. What he did sense was that Dean was hurting and scared. The distance didn't make distinction any easier, and Caleb wasn't truly sure how much of the anxiety and dread he was picking up on was possibly his own, after all being trapped was one of his personal nightmares. "He's hanging in there, but you need to cut him some slack on the super soldier shit."

"What do you think I've been doing this summer, letting him play construction worker with you?"

"I think you saw the perfect opportunity to get Dean out of the way so you could work on whatever gig you've got going at the moment. You put up just enough resistance to make it look like you were doing the kid and me a favor." It made sense the more Caleb thought about it. John had never caved so easily to his or Pastor Jim's pleas to let Dean have a little freedom, to give him time to expand his horizons, especially after Sam left. "I'm not sure what you're up to, but I'm guessing it has to do with _the _big bad demon, Noah Seaver's demon. You think you're getting close, at least closer than you ever have before, and you're making sure Dean is in the clear, Sammy too, considering you haven't stormed the gates of Stanford, and dragged him back into the folds kicking and screaming, especially when he blew off coming home during summer break."

John never averted from Caleb's gaze, never blinked as his protégé spoke. Only when Caleb was finished did he pick up his beer, taking another gulp. "So what do those amazing super powers of intuition tell you about how long we have until we need to get Ace to a hospital?"

Caleb shook his head. So Dean and Sam weren't the only ones John was maneuvering to the sidelines. "Damn it, John, I'm not a grunt fresh out of boot camp that you need to keep in the bunker."

"Last time I checked, Private, I'm the only one with stripes, which means I set the board." John picked a few more nuts from the bowl, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're exactly where I want you, and you'll damn well stay there until I change your orders."

Caleb would be no help to his best friend if he was unconscious. Instead of the rebuttal he ached to deliver, he reverted to John's previous question. "Dean needed a hospital run hours ago. As it is, sooner we get him out and force him to let a doctor poke, prod, and scan him, the better we'll all feel."

"If Missouri's right, we better hope this Lily guy has some answers for us."

Caleb waited until the server delivering their two bowls of chowder had placed the food and silverware in front of them before asking the question he'd refrained from repeating in the van when John evaded it the first time he asked. "What'd she say about the spell?"

John lifted a spoonful of creamy soup to his lips, but hesitated before eating it. "She said the spell created a supernatural lock, one that required a specific key to open."

"There's no way to break it, she can't..."

"No." John put the spoon back in soup, stirring it before scooping up another bite. "She can't."

Caleb looked down at his bowl, the faint smell of the sea stirring his gut, but not in response to his hunger pains. Still he picked up his spoon and forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence, both he and John finishing the food and the pitcher of beer before Garrett Lily finally appeared at their booth.

"I hear you two officers are looking for me."

The bar owner looked nothing like Caleb was expecting. Instead of being tall, lanky and sporting fair skin and red hair, he was broad shouldered, of average height with spiky Smurf blue hair and several facial piercings. The designer black tee shirt he was wearing revealed colorful tattoo sleeves on both arms. Caleb wondered if maybe Prom King was trying to get one over on them by passing one of his college buddies off as his boss.

"You're Garrett Lily?" If John's tone of voice was any indication he was thinking the same thing as Caleb.

"The one and only." Lily grinned, looking a little too pleased to be entertaining officers at his bar. Caleb wondered if Carmine might have been right about Lily's connections to The Family. "How can I be of help to two of Jersey's finest?"

"I'm Agent Gaines. This is my partner, Agent Fallon." John tapped his badge. "We're with the ATF."

"You're shitting me?" Garrett bounced on his toes, his grin fading as he hooked his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans. "What does the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms want with me? All my licenses are in order and I can assure you my staff cards everyone."

Caleb shoved his empty bowl of soup out of the way and propped his elbows on the booth table. Garrett's thoughts were racing despite his calm demeanor. Caleb easily gleaned the cause of his nervousness. They'd had an incident a few months back with some sorority pledges. "The prom king behind the bar didn't card me. I mean, my partner I can understand, but I still have that baby face thing going on."

"We're not here to talk about serving infractions." John shot Caleb a withering look. "We want to talk to you about Liam Lily. I believe he was a relative of yours."

Garrett laughed again. "Don't tell me the feds are still trying to pin something on my dear old great granddad? I think Elliott Ness had a file on the old man back in the day."

"I doubt it," Caleb said. "Ness worked the Chicago beat."

"You know what I mean; my dad's pops was a legend, but I can't believe he's still stirring up heat. Don't you guys have something better to do?"

"We just want to ask you about a property he might have owned, a couple of properties to be exact." John picked up his badge, slid it in his pocket as if he were ready to go. "We can do it here or down at the station."

Garrett looked around the bar, which had begun to pack in more patrons as the hour grew later. He returned his gaze to John. "How about we move this to my office upstairs?"

John nodded, waving Lily on to lead the way. Caleb tossed another twenty on the table before following after The Knight. Liam led them to the back of the bar where an iron spiral staircase took them to a loft above. The room was small, the front made of a two way glass that allowed the person sitting at the desk a perfect view of the front door of the bar.

"Nice set up." Caleb moved around the room, leaning against the mirror. "Great vantage point to keep an eye out for raids."

"Maybe back in Grandpa Liam's day," Garrett took a seat at the desk, his cockiness returning full force with the illusion he was on home turf. He looked to John. "You mentioned property?"

"Some houses out in the old neighborhood along the waterfront." John picked up a small model of Yankee Stadium, giving a roll of his eyes before returning it to its spot. Dean got his hatred for the Yankees from his father. "Liam would have more than likely owned them in the twenties."

"The places they're tearing down for the new and improved South Amboy?" Lily leaned forward to straighten the paperweight.

"Those would be the ones."

Garrett kicked back in his seat, propping his hands behind his head. "My sister still lives in the house my old man grew up in out in Perth Amboy. His father died when I was a kid; if our family ever owned a place out on the water my dad never mentioned it."

"Is there any way we could talk to your father?" Caleb asked, moving around the room to study a black and white portrait hung over a book case.

"Only if you're one of those psychic mediums that talk to dead people."

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest, liking Garrett Lily less and less. He concentrated on the photo to keep from explaining that mediums might be psychic, but not all psychics were mediums. He blamed that stupid movie _Sixth Sense_ for perpetuating ignorance.

"Anyone else in your family left?" John continued.

"Dad was an only child. I have some distant cousins, but they live out West."

"That why Lily's came to you?" John asked. "You don't really seem like the Irish 'pub' type."

"My old man spent his life working here, just like his dad and his grandfather Liam before him.. I guess all fathers want to leave a legacy for their sons. Who am I to break tradition?"

"Is this Liam?" Caleb pointed to the picture on the wall. In it a familiar man in a dark suit posed behind the bar. He was holding a bottle of whiskey like the one Dean had found. The same fleur-de-lis decorated the label.

"That's Pops. He passed when my dad was a kid, but my grandfather told him stories about the guy."

"We hear he made the best bootlegged whiskey around." Caleb took the picture off the wall to study it closer, his eyes drawn to Liam Lily's hands.

"That's what they tell me, but I guess he took the recipe to his grave. Lily's hasn't served original brew since the sixties and even then it was a bastardized version my grandfather concocted from memory."

A spark of pain flared behind Caleb's eyes, bright light flashing before him like something had reflected off the glass of the frame. The same images he'd seen earlier of the old man in front of the mantle at the cape assaulted him. A woman's hands were before him, the flash of gold and green from before materializing into a ring on her right middle finger. This time the vision included sound, an incantation that grew louder, morphing from a soft melodic chant to a shrill high pitched ringing that had Caleb grasping his head in his hands. The smashing of glass broke the illusion and Caleb found himself back in Garrett Lily's office, the black and white framed photo shattered at his feet.

"Caleb?"

"Hey, man, that picture's one of a kind." Lily jumped up from the desk, but one look from John stopped the man in his tracks. He hung back at the desk, a scowl etched on his face.

"Junior?" John gripped Caleb's arm, grounding him. "You alright?"

Caleb took a deep breath to clear his thoughts, the pain receding as quickly as it had come. "I'm okay."

"Too bad I can't say the same for my picture." Garrett made a move forward.

John jabbed a finger at him, touching the holster on his side with his free hand. "I. Said. Stay."

"I'm sorry." Caleb bent to pick up the picture, John following him down to the floor.

"It's okay." John picked up some of the glass tossing it in the trash can by Lily's desk as Caleb gingerly turned the picture over hoping it wasn't damaged despite his dislike for Garrett. The Knight bent his head closer. "What did you see, Kid?"

Caleb was glad to see the picture wasn't torn. He now recognized the old man from his vision, but it was the ring on the bootlegger's finger that drew Caleb's attention. "The ring; I saw this ring."

"You think that's important?"

Caleb lowered his voice to match John's. "The witch was wearing it when she cast the spell. Could it be the key Missouri was eluding to?"

"It would make sense that she used something of his for the binding."

"What the hell are you two going on about?" Lily was losing his patience as well as his illusion of charm. "What does any of this have to do with some old houses you think my great grandfather owned during prohibition? If my family and I are coming into any cash..."

"Do you know anything about this ring?" John took the photograph from Caleb stepping to Garrett. He towered over the man, tapping the picture.

"It was some kind of family heirloom brought over from the old country." Garrett shrugged. "My old man always wore it, told me it was mine after he was gone, but it's not really my taste, you know."

"Where is it now?"

"I buried him with it."

Caleb touched his thumb to the silver band on his hand, the ring John had given to him years ago. He couldn't imagine discarding something drenched in history. "So much for keeping family traditions."

"What's the big deal? The piece wasn't even gold."

John stepped in front of Caleb just as Caleb decided to take out a little of his pent-up frustration on the bar owner. The Knight shoved the photograph towards Lily. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Lily."

Garrett took the picture. "That's it? What about the houses?"

"We'll be in touch if there are any more questions about the property."

Caleb followed John out, not relishing the fact their trip to Pennsylvania would now be replaced by digging up a grave. "I noticed you didn't bother asking him where his old man was laid to rest."

John stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "What good is a psychic sidekick if you can't avoid asking those burning questions that are going to give away your game plan?"

Caleb had picked up the location as Garrett's thoughts turned to his father's service, but John didn't have to seem so pleased with the fact he knew exactly what Caleb would do. "I'm nobody's sidekick_. I'm_ Batman."

"Keep telling yourself that, Boy Wonder." John started his way through the tables, making his way back to the entrance.

The familiar verbal sparring, the words almost identical to those Caleb had exchanged with his best friend earlier, caused Caleb's chest to tighten as he trailed after his mentor. It was hard for Caleb to be angry with John when the man did or said something that reminded him of Dean. It drove home the fact that there was a reason Caleb cared so damn much what happened to the pigheaded bastard. He all too easily found himself transformed into the teenage kid who had been transfixed by the former Marine, the same one prone to tugging on Superman's cape. Mac and Pastor Jim might have pulled Caleb out of the psych ward, given him a home, but it was John Winchester who'd pulled off the real rescue, given Caleb a purpose, a reason to fight.

Caleb waited until they were outside, nearing the van at the curb before trusting his voice. "I guess that means I get to do the majority of the digging?"

John's smirk was classic Winchester. "Those super powers are serving you well today, Junior." He waited for Caleb to climb in before tossing the atlas in his lap once more. "Too bad they couldn't have kicked in a day earlier and saved us all a big pain in the ass."

And just like that Caleb was reminded of all the ways Dean was not his father's son. Deuce could be cold and calculating when it came to the enemy, much more lethal than Caleb in many ways, but he damn well knew how to draw the line when it came to waging war with those he loved. He didn't aim to maim, and, unlike his brother, he sure as hell didn't understand how to stand down and abandon post. For that reason alone, Caleb bit his cheek to keep from returning fire. He opened the atlas and mapped the quickest route to Liam Lily's resting place.

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Okay, I know it's short, but I planned it that way-quick and dirty, like a sucker punch. ;-)

RCJ

"So what do you think this bottle is worth?" Dean focused on the whiskey in his hand, having listened to Carmine's elaborate tale of Liam Lily's homemade Irish whiskey. Two things made the story interesting to him, the fact Bugsy Moran had loved the stuff, and that no one seemed to have a clue any of the brew remained. That had to make it valuable. Focusing on the story kept Dean's mind off the pain in his chest, the fact it now felt like he was inhaling a hot flame every time he took a breath.

"I'm not sure, but I'd give you a thousand dollars for that bottle without even bothering with an expert quote." Vasquez was comfortably in the fireplace, his compact body fitting much better than Caleb's or Moose's.

"Which means it's worth at least five grand." Bobby rejoined them. He had stepped away when his cell phone vibrated. He pulled a white five gallon bucket close, flipping it over to create a makeshift chair. "Carmine's trying to cheat you, Kid."

"I don't cheat, Robert." Carmine continued to use his pocket knife to clean his nails. "I strategically negotiate a fair price for all parties concerned."

"Fair my ass." Bobby pulled off his ball cap, began reshaping the bill. "You scam people out of their property to make a profit."

"Their lack of research is not my problem."

"So you prey on people's ignorance." Dean didn't think Carmine was the type to educate his buyers.

"Don't we all depend on the lay person's ignorance in _our_ line of work?" Carmine closed his knife and turned his overly bright smile on Dean. "Don't forget I also reclaim items of power that humans have no business owning. That takes a bit of cunning business sense. Pastor Jim counts on me to be constantly on the lookout for supernatural instruments. All guardians have their holy quests, I suppose. What are you interested in Young Winchester?"

"I'm guessing the only thing the kid is interested in right now is a way out of that hole in the wall." Bobby's gruff answer held a sharpness Dean rarely associated with the mechanic. Bobby busted chops on a daily basis, but his words were usually more huff and puff than blow a man down. It made him worry if Bobby's phone conversation held more bad news- like the dead end Dean's dad and Caleb had hit at the courthouse. "You'd be smart to mind your place instead of sniffing around for future business, if you know you what I mean."

"Consider me put in order, brother." Carmine sighed, glancing to Dean once more. "When we get you free, I'll give you a fair price for the whiskey."

"Maybe I'll just drink it and see if all the hype is true," Dean suggested, seriously considering the idea. Not only was he hurting, he was thirsty as hell.

"That'd be an awful expensive nightcap." Bobby sat his hat back on his head, pulled it low over his eyes before looking at Dean. "Besides your Daddy and Junior should be here soon with the key to freeing you from that cell. That was John on the phone. He told me to tell you just to hang in there a little longer."

"Dad and Caleb found what they needed at that bar, Lily's?"

"They must have because John said they'd just finished digging up the grave of old man Lily himself. He mentioned something about a ring that Caleb had seen in a vision. They're going to reach out to Missouri for the how tos on what to do next."

Dean could hear Caleb now, bitching about the fact he had ended up on the bad end of a hunt despite the fact Pastor Jim had promised him a gig free summer. Maybe Dean should have told Moose they were in the mob. Caleb was right about their life. Just when you thought you were free of your ties to the family, you got all tangled up in them again. Dean couldn't help to wonder what it would be that dragged Sam back to them, and if by that time Dean would have done what he told Caleb he had planned- moved on. After all, being a big brother was also a lot like having ties to the mob. You could run from one coast to the next, but your responsibilities went with you.

"You hear what I said, Kid?"

Dean blinked, realizing he'd zoned out as Bobby started ranting about Missouri's lack of specifics. The shadowy darkness was back, creeping along the edges of Dean's peripheral vision again. His desire to pull it closer, wrap himself in its emptiness, scared the hell out of him. He rubbed his eyes, clearing his throat, hoping the cavalry hurried and made their way to the rescue. "I heard you. Missouri's going to pull something out of her pointed black hat."

"There is some commonality among such spells," Carmine said, using a tone of genuine authority that Dean knew helped the sly fox swindle his share of customers. "As the old saying goes, there are only so many ways to skin a cat."

"In my experience it's thinking like that which can get you a fucking toad instead of a Prince Charming."

"I had no idea you were interested in princes?" Carmine waggled his brows at Bobby salaciously. The antiquities dealer was by no means flamboyant about his sexual orientation but he loved to get the proverbial rise out of fellow hunters when he recognized an opportunity.

Dean snorted despite the growl it earned him from the mechanic. "I think Bobby's point is he'd feel better if we had the exact spell that was used. As the old saying goes, God is in the details."

Carmine frowned at Dean. "I thought it was the devil."

"Not according to Pastor Jim." Dean often teased The Guardian for his unyielding faith, but found himself wishing Jim were there to offer his unshakeable belief in the fact everything would work out for the best in the end. Dean was beginning to feel more than a little hopeless as his chest continued to ache, his breath becoming more and more labored. He felt lightheaded. He wasn't sure, but it felt to him as if the room was now moving in a slow rotation around some orbit as invisible as the barrier that kept him from escaping.

"Either way you spin it, not knowing the intricacies of something could end us ass deep in more trouble."

"Funny you should say spin." Dean tried to hide his groan with a laugh as he brought his hand to his head.

"You alright, Kid?"

"I don't care how clear Missouri's spell is, Bobby, just get me the hell out of here."

Bobby didn't answer, so Dean rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He didn't know how long he'd drifted somewhere between consciousness, but his father's commanding voice had the same effect as a cold bucket of water. Dean jerked alert. He didn't see John right away. Caleb had replaced Carmine in the fireplace. His gold eyes were locked on Dean, narrowed with concern.

"You still with us, Deuce?"

"Unfortunately." Dean forced a half grin. "I wanted to run out, you know make that yoga class Lisa asked me to come to, but it's not like I had a lot of choice in the matter, man."

"You? Doing yoga?" Caleb shook his head. "I'm not sure even the promise of tantric sex will bring that day about."

"What? You do Tai Chi."

Caleb smirked. "Totally two different things."

"Yeah, I've seen your instructor." Dean glanced past Caleb, catching the first glimpse of his father, bent over his familiar green duffel. "Lisa looks much better in spandex."

"I'm sure she does. Definitely another reason to get you out of here."

"Best plan you've had all summer." Dean took his gaze from his father, leveled them on Caleb so he could read any deception. "Is that going to happen anytime soon?"

"Be ready to move as soon as this bitch shows any give."

Dean nodded, recognizing the bush being beat around. "Missouri gave you the spell?"

"Missouri gave us _a _spell," Caleb explained, truthfully which spoke volumes about his concern. If he thought things would go smoothly he'd just glossed over the facts. "Doubtful it's the same one, but probably similar."

"Bobby said something about a ring?"

Caleb glanced away. Just for a second, but Dean recognized the self-recrimination. "The witch was wearing it in the vision. Turns out it was a Lily family heirloom."

"Not like you'd have figured that out without some other link to Lily."

"We think she used it to bind the spell." Caleb looked over his shoulder. "Your dad's going to do the honors. Carmine's helping him get the stuff together."

"Hey, man if this thing doesn't work…"

"Don't even go there. It's going to work."

"I just, I mean…don't call Sam. I don't want to be the reason he's pulled back in again, not like with New Mexico."

"Okay."Caleb met his gaze with a familiar scowl. It was the one that said, he'd do it, but he wouldn't be happy about it . "But it's not going to come to that, Deuce."

Dean appreciated his friend's attempts to reassure him, but he was used to the Winchester odds when it came to plans going smoothly. For instance, he was not surprised in the least when his father started repeating the incantation wearing Liam Lilly's ancestral ring and the ceiling above Dean shook, dust raining down.

"John wait…" Dean barely made out Caleb's voice over the loud rumbling. It sounded like the whole house was being torn apart at the joists. His best friend was still in under the mantle, his hands pressed against the invisible barrier between them, waiting to pull Dean to safety when it finally gave way-_if_ it gave way. Dean reached his hand toward the shield hoping it might do just that before the ceiling did. His hand would have met Caleb's if not for the force separating them, which now shimmered in an odd silver white light, the color of the ocean at twilight.

The house gave another great heave and Dean shouted for Caleb to get out, knowing his best friend wouldn't listen. Damien was held in place by a greater force than any spell, trapped just assuredly as Dean. That's why Dean was never more thankful for Bobby Singer's surprising agility and strength than when he tackled Caleb out of the way just as the prized mantle of cocobolo rosewood came crashing down bringing most of the stone fireplace and interior wall with it.

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: So I didn't quite finish before the season premiere, but I am so close!

RCJ

Caleb pushed Bobby off and scrambled to his knees. "What the hell did you do?"

"I kept us from having two people to dig out of that mess." Bobby was up just as quick, coughing from the dust and debris cloud that filled the small living space. He followed Caleb to the heap of wood and sheetrock blocking the entrance to the secret room.

"I almost had him. I felt the spell give. I could have pulled him free." Caleb had felt the give in the barrier, the tingle of it still echoed through his hunter's ring.

"Or you could have gotten your head bashed in." Bobby cut his gaze to Caleb for only a moment. Caleb picked up on the wave of dread, the guilt of having to make an impossible choice.

"Dean!" Caleb called, unable to accept that Bobby's last minute rescue spelled doom for his best friend. He pitched chunks of wood out of the way. The mantle had not just come down; it had fallen to pieces as if it had been carved and pieced together by magic. He prayed the same was not true for the hidden room, that it was built by human hands, put together with run of the mill supplies and had withstood their sloppy counter spell.

"Help us," John ordered Carmine, who was staring at the destruction with a hint of awe and fear, then dropped beside Caleb. "Can you sense him, Junior? Is he alright?"

Caleb would never understand John's expansive range of emotion. The man could be the cold and detached hunter one minute, the terrified and concerned father the next. Although the latter was much rarer, Caleb suspected it was the one that required less effort on his mentor's part, a natural state that if John only allowed out of the dark place where he kept it gagged and bound, would easily flourish and reveal a much more honorable side to The Knight. It was only in instances like this one that Caleb envied the ease in which John could manipulate his feelings. As it was, Caleb had to grapple with his overwhelming panic that Dean was lost to them before he could utilize the one advantage he still had.

"He's alive." Caleb continued to dig, his revelation increasing John and Bobby's fervor. Carmine picked up one of the sledge hammers, swung it at some of the larger pieces of cocobolo. Caleb didn't bother warning about instability in structure. Time was their enemy. He focused on the intangible link he had with Dean and tunneled his way closer.

"I appreciate the effort guys, but there's not much left in there to save."

Caleb stilled at the sound of his best friend's voice. His first thoughts were that it was all in his head, a cruel trick of his imagination, but then noticed the others had stopped their frantic digging as well. He whipped his gaze around to find a dirt-covered Dean slumped against the wall that lined the hallway, watching them. He was stooped slightly, holding his side, but he was grinning. It was beautiful sight.

"I'll be damned," Bobby breathed.

"I did manage to hold onto this." Dean lifted the brown bottle of Lily's finest just as his smile faltered. "You owe me five grand, Vasquez."

Caleb felt the now familiar dread wash over him as Dean's legs gave way, and he started a clumsy slide down the wall. The psychic managed to reach him in time, John just behind him. Together they lowered Dean gently to the floor.

"Dean?" John put a hand on his son's head, fear sharpening his tone and belaying the gentle way he cupped Dean's face when the young man's eyes fluttered shut. "Stay awake."

"Secret room had a back door, Damien, just like The Tomb." Dean forced his eyes open, meeting Caleb's gaze.

"I guess mobsters and Guardians do have a lot in common." Caleb kept his hand on Dean's shoulder, easily picking up the flash of images from the younger hunter's escape. Like Caleb hoped, the room must not have been created by the spell like the mantle. It withstood the collapse of the opening and the fireplace long enough for Dean to get free through another passage into the back bedroom once the spell was broken.

"One of you bring the van to the door. Now." John shouted the command over his shoulder as he took the whiskey from Dean's lax hand and set it aside. Caleb heard the scramble of feet. He imagined Carmine had taken up the charge. Bobby appeared over Caleb, his hand resting momentarily on the back of Caleb's neck.

"We need to get him on his feet, Junior."

"I got him." Caleb held his ground, not taking Bobby up on his silent offer to step in. He glanced at his mentor who nodded before together they hefted the younger man up, Dean letting out a pained groan that had Caleb gritting his teeth.

"This serves you right, Ace," John chided as he pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder , slid his arm around Dean's waist. "I told you Caleb would let a house fall on you."

Caleb was caught off guard by the attempt at humor on his mentor's part, not quite sure if it _was_ a joke until he caught the wink John gave his son, the half smirk it elicited from Dean that momentarily erased the kid's pained grimace.

"For once father knows best," Dean managed, though his breath caught sharply when they started walking him towards the door. He listed against Caleb, who had to make an effort to distance himself psychically from his best friend.

"John Winchester has his one and only Ward Cleaver moment." Bobby grunted, rushing to open the door for them.

"Technically, it was only half a house." Caleb played along, though he was sure Dean no longer heard them. He tightened his hold on the kid who was completely limp in their grip now as they moved outside. "Nothing more than a wall, really."

John glanced at him over Dean's bowed head, a flicker of something other than anger or fear in his dark gaze. It was a look Caleb remembered from times in battle when he'd been afraid when John had somehow sensed his protégé was slipping over that invisible line where soldiers can be consumed by their fear, crippled by emotions threatening their resolve. "I'll be sure to remember that in a few weeks, Junior when I have you and your buddy Ace running maneuvers all over God's creation."

RcJ

Caleb would rather have rather been hiking up a mountainside with a sixty pound pack strapped to his back in the middle of a hail storm than sitting in the hard plastic chair he currently occupied in the sterile, air-conditioned waiting room. He'd preferred a standoff with his red-faced screaming drill sergeant of a mentor to the stare down he was presently having with the hospital clock. At least John was predictable.

Time didn't behave in a hospital. It had a way of folding in on itself, stretching its boundaries and manipulating every rule that was supposed to make it constant and quantifiable. Fifteen minutes could easily present itself as five hours to the unlucky person left waiting for news. Tonight that someone was Caleb, and even though he'd been abandoned in waiting rooms almost as often as he'd found himself on the bad end of John Winchester's temper, he caught himself watching the trickster face on the wall, cursing the magician-like slight of its hands. Even though he was hoping for John or even better, Dean's doctor to appear, Bobby's entrance was a welcomed distraction.

"You can relax, Junior," Bobby made his way towards Caleb. The only other person waiting, an older man with his head in a book, didn't bother to look up at the mechanic's approach. "Looks like the kid's luck is going to hold."

"How the hell do you know?" Caleb stood, garnering the same warning look from the lone nurse at the desk in the corner that he'd received every time he'd moved from his seat to pace the narrow walkway between her and the door to the emergency treatment area.

"John filled me in on the doctor's preliminary findings." Bobby took Caleb by the arm, led him a little farther away from the nurse. "The patient has a couple of cracked ribs, bruised one of his lungs pretty good. He's going to come fill you in after Dean's squared away in a room."

"John?" Caleb glanced towards the silver bay doors where his mentor had disappeared with Dean, leaving Caleb to fill out insurance papers. There was no way his mentor could have gotten by him. Caleb hadn't abandoned his post, even when his bladder demanded it.

"No, the kid's doctor."

"Where the hell is John? I've been sitting here for hours." Hours was of course a relative term, but Caleb wasn't going to get into the clock's hijinks with Bobby.

"He's out in the van." Bobby sighed, removing his cap from his head, reshaping the bill. "The Knight is itching to hit the road."

"What?" Caleb was certain other forces were joining in the waiting room magic act as the proverbial rug was pulled from his feet. "John can't leave. Dean's hurt. We're in a fucking hospital."

The watch dog nurse cleared her throat, giving Caleb a pointed look that promised she would prove good on her threat to call security if he didn't adhere to the hospital's rules.

"The kid's not critical, Caleb." Bobby sat his hat back on his head.

"So he's not on life support. It still might be nice if his father would stick around to make sure he's alright."

"We all know the kid's in good hands." Caleb entertained thoughts of pounding some sort of fatherly responsibility into The Knight. Bobby seemed to read his thoughts. "We also know that nothing you say or do is going to change John Winchester's mind, especially when he's on a fresh scent."

"I can't fucking believe he is leaving on another hunt." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, he's bent on finishing the same hunt we were on before Jim called us. John's afraid the trail's going to grow cold and now that Dean's out of danger..."

"What about the mess we left at the cape? How the hell do you expect me to clean that up and stay with Dean? I might have given the men the weekend off, but that doesn't mean they won't be curious, quick to come in just to check on how things are going, especially if Farley blabs his mouth about the EPA. It could all go south really quickly."

"John ordered Carmine to head back that way. He'll stick around and handle the other houses as well as any fallout from your government shutdown."

"Great," Caleb rolled his eyes heavenward. "Just what I need. Johnny's skipping town and leaving me to house and feed his pet bloodhound."

Bobby's mouth twitched. "Carmine's housebroken, mostly, and I'm sure he'll gladly share your bed."

"This is bullshit." Caleb growled, not willing to be appeased by Bobby's attempt at crude humor.

"I agree, but I have my orders and so do you."

"Orders? Since when do you blindly do John Winchester's bidding?" Caleb glared at the mechanic, knowing he was taking his frustration out on the wrong person. There was a reason John had sent Bobby in to do his dirty work. The mechanic was once again the unlucky messenger. "You forget I've seen you pull out your trusty shotgun on more than one occasion when The Knight has tried to dictate to you, especially if it wasn't in the best interest of the boys."

Bobby's face reddened, and Caleb could tell he was showing a great restraint of his own by keeping his hands to himself and maintaining an even keeled tone. "I don't give a shit about what The Knight commands, damn it. My orders come from higher up."

Caleb's gut clenched, some of his ire being replaced by the same gnawing dread he felt when his mentor dodged his questions lately. "Pastor Jim?"

"The Guardian doesn't think it's a good idea that his Knight be on any solo quests right now. He's afraid the idgit might get himself killed or worse."

Caleb should have known Jim was more in the loop than John figured. For all his good qualities as a hunter, John Winchester's laser-precise focus and over confidence could blind him to the insight of others. In fact, he tended to underestimated those closest to him. It was probably why he allowed Bobby along for the ride without much concern. "What do you think?"

Bobby set his hands on his hips, giving a heavy sigh. "I think it's a fucking miracle he's lived this long, and that we'll all be damn lucky if he doesn't take a few of us out with him when things finally go to Hell in a hand basket."

Caleb twisted the silver ring on his right hand. "Does Dad feel that way?"

"Kid, your old man is between a rock and a hard ass. He's John's best friend and The Scholar of The Brotherhood. Neither of those positions are very enviable on a good day_. Today_ is not a good day."

Caleb found irony in the fact he'd recanted those same words to Moose earlier. Caleb wasn't the only one who knew firsthand how impossible John could be, and he almost felt bad for giving Bobby grief. Almost. "What is so damn important that he's willing to risk everything? What is he looking for?"

"A weapon." Bobby rubbed a hand over his beard. "Some kind of supernatural gun that can supposedly kill anything, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Anything as in a higher level demon?" Caleb knew it was the only thing that explained why John was more frenzied than usual, why he'd not dragged Sam kicking and screaming back from Stanford, why he'd allowed Dean out from beneath his thumb, if only for a summer. "He's closing in on the thing that killed Mary, isn't he?"

Bobby's stony face and hard gaze told Caleb he'd just hit a brick wall with the mechanic. "I'd say with making sure Dean stays on the mend and keeping Carmine on a short leash, you've got enough on your plate. Don't you, Kid?"

"Meaning you're not going to tell me a damn thing."

"Meaning it's nothing you need to worry about. It doesn't concern you, Caleb."

"Like hell it doesn't." Caleb was set to spout all the ways John going after the demon that killed Mary most certainly did concern him when another unexpected entrance cost him his chance.

"Dude, I heard about Dean." Moose didn't bother to keep his voice down as he strolled determinedly across the room to meet up with Caleb and Bobby. "How's he doing?"

"Let me guess, Bobby was kind enough to call you." Caleb narrowed his gaze at the mechanic.

"You didn't think I'd leave you in the field without backup." Bobby reached in his back pocket removing Caleb's cell phone, which Caleb hadn't even realized he was missing. Bobby must have 'borrowed' it on the ride to the hospital when Caleb was taking care of Dean. Maybe John wasn't the only one who fell victim to his tendency to focus on certain things to the exclusion of everything else, including the machinations of those around him. The mechanic reached up and squeezed Caleb's shoulder. "I better get going before John decides you need more help than your hardhat buddy here can provide and takes off without me."

"You're leaving?" Moose looked at Bobby in confusion. "Dean's dad, too?"

"The work of an EPA agent is never done, Son." Bobby tipped his hat at Moose giving Caleb another meaningful glance. "Take good care of Timmy, Girl."

"Where are they going?" Moose watched Bobby leave before turning his searching gaze back to Caleb.

"That's the million dollar question."

"Is Dean being released?" Moose followed Caleb over to the plastic chairs, which suddenly seemed much more appealing to Caleb. The day was most definitely starting to catch up to the psychic, the hangover from that morning and the residual pain from the visions he'd experienced vying for most likely culprit behind his overwhelming exhaustion.

"No, not anytime soon." Caleb took a seat, propping his elbows on his knees. He rested his chin on one hand, letting his eyes focus on the silver bay doors even as his mind roamed past them. His connection with Dean sparked with concentrated effort, allowing Caleb to push past his headache to touch the other hunter's thoughts. The kid was out of it, feeling no pain as he slept thanks to the drugs coursing through him.

"Did you hear me?"

Caleb blinked, realizing Moose had asked him a question and was impatiently waiting for the answer. "What?"

"I asked you why they were leaving if Little Dude isn't out of the woods."

"You heard what Bobby said." Caleb waved a hand towards the door. "Duty calls."

"Dude, I know your brother and uncle don't work for the Environmental Protection Agency."

"No, they don't." Maybe it was his frustration at the situation, his anger with John, or maybe Caleb just wanted to see what would happen if he came clean with one person outside The Brotherhood. "They're hunters."

"Hunters?" Moose's bushy brows comically jutted towards his receding hairline.

"Yes." Caleb sat up straight, determined to follow through now that he'd started. He met the other man's gaze head on. "Hunters. And the season for what we hunt is always open."

"Okay, Skid, maybe I should get you some coffee, or even better something to eat." Moose started to get up. "Have you even eaten since breakfast..."

Caleb gripped Oliver's arm, keeping him where he was. He was determined to get it all out before his good sense and years of training took control "I'm not talking deer or ducks, man, not even bear. We hunt things from your nightmares. Ghosts, poltergeists, zombies, revenants, wendigos, shapeshifters. Hell, if it's supernatural, evil, we've killed it."

Moose stayed where he was, his concerned look fading behind a half smile. "Vampires and werewolves, too?"

"I can honestly say I've never seen a vampire, but other hunters have. Werewolves are rare, but bad ass." Caleb licked his lips, taking a breath to continue. "Demons are the worst of the lot, though. I hate fucking demons."

"Demons?"

"That's what John's after. One evil sonofabitch straight from the bowels of Hell." Caleb didn't feel the need to clarify that the demon in question not only destroyed Dean and Sam's life, but was rumored to be his own great-great-grandfather. He decided to spill another dirty secret instead. "And I do have a super power, that is if you count death visions and reading a person's thoughts as super powers. Most of the time it's more burden than gift, but in battle it has its advantages. I hate to break it to you, Oliver, but I'm closer to Darth Vader than I'll ever be to being Batman."

Laughter was not the response Caleb had been expecting, nor was the hearty slap to his back that nearly sent him toppling out of his seat. "Damn, Skid, the things you say. No wonder Little Dude comes up with the shit he does. A knack for the outlandish must be another one of your family traits."

"Oliver, I'm not lying."

"Sure, you're not." Moose winked at Caleb. "I get it, man. Really I do, but Dean explained everything to me."

Caleb was almost afraid to ask. "What exactly did Dean explain to you?"

Moose looked around, lowering his voice despite the fact the guy with the book had disappeared and the nurse was now on the phone. "You're spies."

"Spies?" Caleb sputtered. Surely Moose had misunderstood. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, like 007, but without the suits and British accent. I mean a guy would have to be dense not to see it after witnessing that high tech trap Dean sprung. Is this farce of a job in South Amboy some kind of secret mission?"

"Secret mission? No, Oliver. You're way off base. South Amboy is a legit job."

Moose wasn't deterred. He pointed at Caleb's hand. "The rings you all wear-some kind of CIA tracking devices, right?"

Caleb glanced from his hunters band to Oliver. "You've been watching Inspector Gadget marathons again, haven't you?"

"It explains all the secrecy and odd injuries."

"Because facing off with all manner of evil creatures doesn't?" Caleb demanded.

"Then there's the money and the private jet."

"Moose, my grandfather owns a multi-billion dollar conglomeration. My father is one of the top neurosurgeons in the world. _That's_ where all the money comes from."

Moose's enthusiasm wasn't dampened by Caleb's attempt at an explanation. "Both excellent covers for a spy."

"No, they're not. I mean they would be a good cover, but they're not." Caleb only thought his earlier conversation with Moose about super heroes was ridiculous. Compared to this it was as normal as discussing the Sox and Yankees game. "For the last time, we are not spies!"

"Gotch ya." Moose said with a huge grin. He punched Caleb in the leg. "You should see your face, Dude."

"Huh?" Caleb frowned, rubbing his thigh.

"I'm pulling your chain. Dean didn't tell me shit. He's as close-lipped as his stubborn uncle, but you two aren't the only ones who can spin some bullshit. Am I right?"

Caleb frowned. "So you don't think we're in the CIA?"

"Damn, Skid, I might have taken more hard hits on the field than I care to admit, but I promise you my brain is not that scrambled. You wouldn't leave me in charge of Tri-Corp as much as you do if you thought I was that stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid." Caleb swallowed the huge lump that had come to his throat. "I just..."

"You were just trying to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protecting from. I get it, really I do, but I don't care what your family does. It's none of my business. Like my mom always said, it takes all kinds. You're my friend, Batman or James Bond, and so is Little Dude. That's all that matters." Oliver shook his head, his goofy, good-natured smile returning. He bumped Caleb's shoulder. "But I got to tell you if you really want to throw people off the truth, you're going to have to come up with something a little more believable than a family of supernatural hunters. It's insulting. Demons and death visions my ass."

Caleb wasn't quite sure of what he might have said or done if the nurse hadn't approached them at that moment. Maybe he would have read Oliver's mind like some circus side show fortune teller, or better yet, give him a practical demonstration on how he could cut off a man's oxygen flow with one concentrated thought. As it was, the nurse's announcement that Dean's doctor was available to talk to Caleb took precedence over setting things straight with his construction foreman.

"Dr. Patel is waiting in Consultation Room 4 with news on your nephew," she explained with some impatience. "I'll show you there now."

"Go," Moose waved him on. "I'll grab some food from the cafeteria for us and meet you back here."

Caleb nodded; trying to take some comfort in the fact he had done the unthinkable and revealed his darkest secret to someone from the normal world. Unlike John had predicted, the fallout was minimal, non-existent even. He supposed he should have been relieved, bolstered by the fact he'd proved his mentor wrong on some level even if it was because Moose hadn't believed a damn word he'd said, but instead Caleb couldn't quite shake the feeling he was once more an unwilling participant in the waiting room magic show, having never remembered a time when he felt more invisible.


	9. Chapter 9

The Hidden Place

By: Ridley

A/N: Thank you to all those who have been faithful readers and amazingly kind reviewers. I have enjoyed this story so much and hope to perhaps do another soon.

RCJ

The promise of light beckoned Dean to open his eyes, even as the pull of the blissful suspension he'd been indulging begged him to stay just as he was, unaware of anything but the fog he was floating in. A mix of curiosity and demanding responsibility got the best of him. Dean had an innate need to be aware, to be on guard, even when it wasn't in his best interest. The searing pain in his head when he finally forced his eyes to obey his command was a prime example.

"Ahh." He wasn't sure if he'd groaned out loud until a hand rested on his shoulder a soft voice told him good morning. The distinct dulcet tones of a female had him blinking quickly, his heart rate picking up as he tried to remember who he might have gone to bed with the night before. It was a bad habit, finding a great face and nice body far too distracting to remember something as trivial as a name. If the wave of nausea and dull ache in his body was any indication, he and the mystery woman of the week had possibly drunk way too much tequila and engaged in some very physical foreplay.

"Mr. Winchester?"

The formal address had him taking another deep breath to clear his thoughts. Cool, almost metallic tasting air greeted him. A faint smell of hospital still lingered beneath the pure oxygen, alerting Dean he was not waking up to some one night stand, but more than likely a nurse.

He must have declared his suspicions because the woman now leaning over him, adjusting the oxygen mask on his face was nodding. "That's right, you're in a hospital. I'm your nurse, Anna. How are you feeling?"

Dean didn't answer right away, looking around the room, straining to see around Anna's broad form. The empty chair beside his bed sent a wave of panic through him that chased away the last of the fog. Dean had woken numerous times in a hospital, with little cognizance of what had landed him there, but one thing always held true. He never woke up alone.

"Where…"

Dean attempted to ask where his family was but ended up in a coughing jag that told him that broken ribs had to be a culprit in this latest trip to the dreaded hospital. His pained groaning had Nurse Anna shaking her head in exasperation but she raised the top part of his bed so she could offer him a drink.

"You've been on oxygen since you arrived last night. Your throat's bound to be dry. The less talking the better."

Dean brought the cup to his mouth with a shaky hand. He took note of the IV, realizing oxygen wasn't the only thing they had been pumping into him. A sore dry throat was the least of his problems. Dean's head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and try as he might he couldn't quite recall why he was even in the hospital. The last thing that stood out vividly in his mind was a crushing defeat at Yankee Stadium.

"What happened?" Was it possible he and Caleb ran into a mob of zealous New York fans, talking too much trash for their own good, or had Dean's fears of subway travel finally been justified and their train had gone off the rails in a spectacular manner.

Anna took her time checking his vitals, then smiled as she reclaimed the empty cup with a gentle pat to his arm. "Word on the floor is that a house fell on you."

Bits and pieces of memories replayed for Dean as if Anna had hit some magic start button on his internal recorder. He recalled the secret passage, his ensuing ensnarement, and the spell his father had been trying to break when the whole cursed mantle and supporting wall had come tumbling down.

"Where's Caleb?" Dean pushed the oxygen mask from his face, moving to shove the blankets from his legs. He remembered his best friend knelt beneath the mantle before the collapse. Dean thought he'd talked to him after escaping the room, but the pain medicine made it hard to trust the validity of anything his mind was impressing. Maybe Anna was being literal and the entire house had succumbed to the spell work. Caleb might have been hurt too. That would explain why he was alone. "Where's my dad? Bobby?"

Anna's hand rested once more on his shoulder, but this time it had impressive strength. Dean would have been embarrassed that the much older woman stopped his evasive maneuvers if he hadn't been struggling to breathe thanks to the burst of adrenaline that had reawakened a fiery pain in his chest. He closed his eyes, seeing stars. When he opened them again, Caleb was there.

"Hey. You trying to make a liar out of me, Deuce?"

Dean blinked, somehow not surprised that Caleb had arrived, as if he'd magically materialized in the wake of Dean's fear. His face was grim underneath the attempt at a smile.

"I told Anna there'd be no drama from the patient if she let me go grab some of the delicious coffee downstairs."

Dean's muttered bullshit was barely audible thanks to the oxygen mask Caleb returned to his face but it made the older hunter laugh just the same, some of the worry fading from his features.

"If I recall your leaving was more along the lines of doctor's orders." Anna glanced at her watch then returned her gaze to Dean's IV, checking it hadn't been dislodged. "I doubt if you had time for the requisite meal we agreed upon."

Caleb held up a brown paper bag. "I got it to go. Thanks for the tip on the BLT by the way."

"I'm not sure that was what Dr. Patel had in mind."

"How's the patient doing?" Caleb expertly shifted the conversation. He took a seat on the edge of Dean's bed, arching a brow at the younger hunter though the question had been directed to the medical professional. "All the extra beauty sleep didn't seem to do him much good?"

"You have no room to talk." Dean noted the day's growth of beard added to Caleb's dark countenance, the circles of sleeplessness beneath his eyes not helping. Caleb looked tired and worried, but also angry, which lent to Dean's next inquiry. "Where's Dad?"

Caleb glanced at Anna. "Should he be talking so much?"

"It was only hours ago that you were demanding to know why he wasn't awake and doing just that."

"Careful what you wish for." Caleb smirked at Dean. "He was practically mute when he was a little kid. I used to bribe him to talk to me."

"I'm sure we can arrange for some leverage to keep him quiet." Anna smiled at Dean, patted his arm in sympathy once more. "Like possibly a release from here in the morning if he doesn't try anymore escapes."

Dean and Caleb both must have looked ready to pounce on the offer because Anna held up a hand to ward them off. "That is if Dr. Patel is satisfied with your oxygen levels after he does his rounds this evening."

"That means conserve your breath, Deuce. It will give us a chance to brush up on our rusty sign language."

Dean narrowed his gaze at his friend, lifting his middle finger slightly off the bed.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "That wasn't exactly the sign language I had in mind. _ASL _will do fine."

Once the nurse had left Dean turned his head to look at Caleb. He moved the oxygen mask. "Sorry I don't remember the finger sequence for dick head."

Caleb quickly spelled out a word that was far worse than Dean's barb, then used their own personal version of sign for a few more. They'd gotten creative over the years, adding private codes so they could insult the older hunters without them being any wiser. "See it all comes back so easy."

"Where's Dad?" Dean wasn't going to be thwarted by Caleb's antics.

Caleb sighed. "Put the mask back on and I'll fill you in on what I know."

Dean didn't argue the conditions, not because his first instinct wasn't to do just that but because the cool oxygen made breathing much more pleasant. He repositioned the mask over his face but made an extreme effort to look indignant about it. "Deal."

Much to Dean's dismay, Caleb claimed the chair by the bed and began a slow process of unwrapping his dinner, a fried bounty on golden buttery toast that had Dean's stomach growling.

"You're going to eat dinner in front of me?"

The older hunter shrugged, purposively displaying the BLT, pieces of perfectly crisp bacon jutting from the sides. "Doctor's orders. Got to keep my strength up if I'm going to nurse you back to health to avoid any nasty workman's comp issues. Besides, it's not like you're trapped in a secret room without any nourishment. That's what the IV's for."

"You suck."

"Not as much as John." Caleb wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "He and Bobby hit the road yesterday."

Dean attempted to push himself up further in the bed getting a stabbing pain and little progress for his trouble. Caleb put his sandwich down and hit the remote that would raise the top of Dean's bed higher. "Was something wrong?"

"Typical stuff."

Dean recognized his best friend's attempt to state the truth without stating the complete truth. Caleb chose to focus on reclaiming his sandwich instead of facing Dean. They had a deal between them. Lying was not something they did, even when the truth was bound to be painful. Dean once more removed the oxygen mask. "Meaning he's back on the job."

"He stayed to make sure you were alright." Caleb leaned forward elbows resting on the bed. "Gave me orders to stay put until you were discharged and on the mend."

"Same hunt he was on before Jim pulled him out of rotation?"

"I get the idea that The Knight's current hunt isn't exactly Guardian sanctioned." Caleb took another bite of his sandwich, but the look on his face told Dean he wasn't enjoying it as much as he should have.

"Bobby tell you that?"

Caleb gave a slight shake of his head as he swallowed. "Bobby showed me a few cards in his hand. You know how that goes."

"I do, and just like _you_ I think it sucks." It was Dean's way of reminding his friend they had agreed a long time ago not to hold out on each other. "What's dad after that would have him dodging Jim?"

Caleb reached up and once more and repositioned the oxygen mask on Dean's face, giving the younger man a glare that promised retribution if it didn't stay put this time. "If you don't want to refresh our trusty sign language routine, then just think really loud. I can read your mind, you know."

Dean blinked, taking a deep breath of the oxygen. He narrowed his gaze stubbornly but conceded the point. He signed for Caleb to tell him.

Caleb tossed the sandwich in the trash by Dean's bed and leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh. "Johnny's sniffing around for some kind of special weapon. One that can reportedly kill anything."

Dean had just made out the sign for _demon_ when Caleb nodded.

"Bobby wasn't willing to share any details but that's what I'm thinking."

Dean's mind raced with possibilities. His father had been distracted the last few months, even before Dean signed on with Caleb's crew for the summer. John Winchester was many things but he was always focused when it came to his work. Dean had chalked it up to worry about Sam, but then his father rarely spoke Dean's brother's name.

"It makes sense doesn't it," Caleb lowered his voice, obviously reading Dean's spiraling train of thought. He leaned forward once more. "Johnny has a lead on the big bad and he wants everyone out of the way so he can work out a plan."

"And here we thought he was maybe mellowing." Dean didn't bother signing, knowing if his reply was muffled by the mask Caleb already knew what he was thinking.

"We should have known better. Johnny mellows like a slab of fish in the midday sun. Jim's got Bobby shadowing him."

"Dad has to know that." If John Winchester was letting Bobby tag along, it wasn't because he was being duped by The Guardian.

"I thought he might just be so completely focused he underestimated Merlin, but you're probably right." Caleb palmed his eyes, looking wearier. "Johnny's letting everyone know he doesn't give a shit that Jim knows. Hell, he knows Jim's and Mac's hands are tied."

"Finding mom's killer was the whole reason he joined The Brotherhood, Damien." Dean laid a hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow down so to stop taxing his unhappy lungs. "His Triad knows that better than anyone."

"He also joined The Brotherhood, became The Knight, to protect you and Sammy." Anger returned to color Caleb's face. "That has always been his priority mission."

Dean wanted to believe that as badly as Caleb needed to, but there were some days when it was hard to swallow. Like the day when Sam left for California, and on days when Dean woke up in a hospital alone with his best friend who hadn't slept in twenty four hours on solo watch. He wondered if Caleb realized that maybe John had delegated that particular priority mission to his protégé a long time ago.

"He would never willingly put you or Sam in the path of that thing."

"Right. Just like he'd never shirk his duty as a father." Dean frowned at his best friend, not sure if Caleb was trying to convince himself or hoping to make Dean feel better. Either way, wanting something to be true, sure as hell didn't make it so. If that were how life worked, so much of Dean Winchester's world would be different.

"Don't expect me to defend the bastard, Deuce. We both know Johnny has never been in the running for Father of the Year, but I'm just pointing out that maybe letting Sam go to Stanford and agreeing for you to work for Tri-Corp is his way of protecting you."

Dean moved the mask without thinking, old hurt and frustration surfacing in an anger that was going to punish him in a few moments. "Did you forget the year and a half long war that ended in the epic battle that led to Dad telling Sam to get the hell out of our lives and to never look back? How the hell is_ that_ letting Sam go to college?"

"I didn't say Johnny was big on simple concessions. His acquiescence was drawn out."

"Dude, you're giving Dad way too much credit." Or Caleb was trying to paint a nicer picture for Dean. One in which the valiant black dragon O'Nathan Jay was being not only clever but virtuous. It was a Pastor Jim move, one that Caleb wouldn't usually try but Dean suspected the fact he was in a hospital bed, looking like death warmed over had something to do with the pitiful attempt at displaying The Knight in a better light for his son.

Caleb once more moved from the chair to the bed, repositioning the oxygen mask on Dean's face none too gently. "What happened to our deal, Devil's Advocate?"

Dean rolled his eyes and signed that he was sorry. Dean was sorry for a lot of things, none more than the fact he couldn't naively accept that his father had any thoughts for anyone or anything beyond the possible lead on what might have killed Mary Winchester and the chance to get his hand on a weapon that would help him exact revenge. "I don't blame him."

"Of course you don't." Caleb's angry look returned and he folded his arms over his chest. "You'll probably want to help him."

"Like you don't?"

"It's a moot point considering he won't let either of us near that hunt."

"You're probably right." Dean picked at the blanket covering him for a moment before lifting his gaze to Caleb who was staring out the lone window in thought. Dean didn't need his best friend's psychic abilities to know what was going through his mind. "But then again you've never been big on following orders."

"Pot meet Kettle." Caleb snorted.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"The only thing I have on my mind at the moment is making sure you recover and make that Yoga class with Lisa." Caleb returned his gaze to Dean, pointing a finger at him. "Then there's the steak Moose owes you to consider."

"And Tri-Corp," Dean was quick to add. He didn't really like the idea of Caleb poking around in The Knight's affairs, even if he planned on doing just that himself the first chance he got. "You need to concentrate on stabilizing the company, not on sticking your nose in Dad's crazy business."

"That's not really an issue seeing as Tri-Corp has suddenly become quite lucrative thanks to your little find."

"How's that?" Dean vaguely recalled Carmine's promise of a nice finder's fee for the whiskey but nothing that would put Caleb's company safely back in the black.

"Remember the other two capes with the mantles? Carmine, thanks to his never ending source, was able to tweak the spell Missouri gave us. He opened the passages without destroying the secret rooms. Last count there was over 200 bottles of Liam Lilly's priceless brew accounted for. He's already found a very wealthy collector to buy them."

"Wouldn't that find technically belong to South Amboy's Rejuvenation Committee, or maybe to Liam Lilly's surviving heir?"

"Trust me when I say old man Lily would not shed any tears about his brat of a great great grandson not seeing a penny of his legacy." Caleb grinned. "And as for South Amboy's committee, I'm sticking with a time-honored contractual agreement between philanthropists and architectural explorers everywhere."

Dean's mouth twitched. "'And that would be?"

Caleb grinned. "Finders-keepers, of course."

"Right." Dean laughed and immediately regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut, opening them when he felt Caleb bump his fist up against his.

"But you definitely deserve a huge finder's fee, Deuce. How does a fifty-fifty split sound?"

Dean smirked. "How about I just reinvest my part in the company and you give me a nice title, one with more prestige than Moose's and Farley's and maybe a nice cushy office with air conditioning."

"I think I can arrange that." Caleb nodded. "I'll even consider taking you on as a silent partner, emphasis on the silent."

Dean used another colorful sign to show what he thought of that idea. "You're just offering because I'm only here until August."

"No one says you can't stay longer."

"Dad says. Distracted or not he's not going to let me play slacker for much longer."

"Then it's a good thing I'm going to be freed up here about that same time."

"Damien, money or not, you still had plans for this place. What happened to being a part of all that possibility? Sweeping change, remember?" Dean didn't want Caleb sacrificing anything else for his welfare. He could pretend all he wanted that he was concerned about John's plans and Dean knew that was probably part of it, but it was Caleb's desire to protect Dean that was the driving force. Unlike The Knight, Caleb would always remain faithful to his one priority mission to keep Dean and Sam safe.

"I have a feeling South Amboy isn't the only thing on a precipice."

Caleb didn't' have to explain further and Dean knew it was futile to argue. They were both excellent student's of John Winchester's single minded stubbornness. "So our next job is to shadow The Knight?"

"Only instead of tearing something apart, our mission is to keep The Brotherhood intact."

"Let's just hope we don't stumble into anymore hidden places filled with things far worse than Carmine's fancy bootleg whiskey."

Caleb smirked. "Don't worry, Deuce. We'll keep our eyes peeled for bizarre wood and our hard hats handy."

Dean gave a half grin in agreement but couldn't help thinking that no amount of planning or armament would protect them from the fallout if John Winchester's delicate house of cards came tumbling down around them.

The End...for now.


End file.
